


Kill Devil Hills

by 36and40, Valkyrie69



Series: The Not Nebraska Series [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol used during sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Beach Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Bottom Sam, Brief Insights from the Past, Combined Come, Dean Winchester Wears Panties, Deepthroating, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Established Relationship, First Person, First Person POV in Part of Story, Frottage, Frustrating Sex, Hair Kink, M/M, Mixed come, Mutual Masturbation, Narrator POV in Part of Story, North Carolina, Outer Banks, Outer Banks of North Carolina, POV First Person, Panties, Panty Kink, Porn with Feelings, Rigorous Sex, Sam and Dean Vacation, Sam and Dean Winchester go on Vacation, Sam/Eileen Never Happened, Season 15, Sex After Slight Injury, Sex during a storm, Sex on the Beach, Sex on the deck, Shower Sex, Top Dean, Top Sam, shifting pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24681340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/36and40/pseuds/36and40, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valkyrie69/pseuds/Valkyrie69
Summary: After Sam and Dean creatively determined their vacation location in "Not Nebraska", they actually take the vacation they've deserved for so long.  Before they have to face God and save the world, they need to recharge, explore somewhere new, and explore each other.
Relationships: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester, Sam/Dean
Series: The Not Nebraska Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784449
Comments: 26
Kudos: 27





	Kill Devil Hills

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lira_Chimera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lira_Chimera/gifts).



> After writing "Not Nebraska", Valkyrie69 and 36and40 wanted to write a gift to our third "Not Nebraska" collaborator Lira_Chimera. Thank you, Lira, for all of the friendship and advice you've given us - advice that I'm pretty sure we could only get from you. Thank you for your incredible openness and trust. We appreciate you so much. You are a rare, rare individual with so much insight.
> 
> Now...Sam and Dean deserve a vacation more than anyone on the planet. They've never gotten a real one and it's about damn time they did.
> 
> Also wanted to say that, while set in season 15 and written during the covid-19 pandemic when production on the show was suspended with both the filming of the last episodes and the airing of the finale pushed back, the writers assume here that Sam's relationship with/feelings for Eileen Leahy in season 15 never happened.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“No, I said _left_ at the T _,_ Dean,” Sam complains vehemently as he squints at the map on his phone screen.

Dean glances over and grins.

“I think you need your eyes checked, old man. Besides who’s the _navigator_ here? Have I _ever_ steered us wrong?”

Despite his confident tone, Dean slows his Baby a little more, worrying about her undercarriage as the crushed shell surface of the narrow lane crunches, crackles, and jumps under the Impala’s tires.

Sam rolls his eyes and huffs out an annoyed breath.

“Have you ever….? Thanks to you we got here about two hours later than planned, dumbass. And if you make one more pirate reference or tell me to call you Cap’n, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“ ’M just taking the scenic route, Sammy. We’re on vacation after all.”

Dean doesn’t let Sam’s road trip fatigue foul his own good mood. He’s way too psyched that they are actually making good on their promise to take a vacation and are using the result of their epic map-table-sex marathon a few days ago to guide them to the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

After they informed Jack and Cas of where they were going and made absolutely clear that contacting them for anything short of the literal end of the world would have dire consequences, the Winchesters hit the road for the long but uneventful drive. Unwilling to sacrifice any more of their precious time than absolutely necessary, they only stopped for meals and gas and they switched out driving every eight hours or so to let the other sleep as they traveled the almost 1500 miles from Lebanon to their destination.

Dean knows that it’s much harder on Sam’s oversized frame to stay folded into the Impala for so long and that he must be hurting by now, so he doesn’t take his brother’s grousing at the end of the trip personally and, instead, thinks about the best ways to loosen Sam up later, entertaining increasingly outlandish ideas.

Both were pleasantly surprised that the last two and a half hours of the drive since they left the Interstate behind and cruised along U.S. 64 led them through an interesting tableau of ever-changing landscapes and vistas.

Miles of rural farmland, interspersed with longleaf pine forests and one-traffic-light-communities, made Dean wonder how hard it would be to make a living here as he watched farmers take advantage of the mild October weather to bring in the sweet potato, cotton and peanut harvest on their seemingly small homesteads.

After crossing the Alligator River, they were surrounded by lush wetlands full of impressively large cypress trees with the occasional hammock of ancient oak and hickory for several miles. Sam scanned the pristine swampland, taking the eerily beautiful quality of light in the million different shades of green, gray, and brown. He appreciated the abundance of visible bird life until Dean made a remark about old legends of a swamp hag in these parts, after which Sam subconsciously scanned for other things in the dense jungle-like foliage.

Suddenly the twilight of the swamp gave way to expansive blue skies over wide-open salt marshes as the road continued as a five-mile bridge over the Croatan Sound (“No, Dean, _not_ ‘Croatoan Sound!’“) to Roanoke Island.

It was a close thing to convince Sam to visit the Lost Colony site at a later date, but by that time, both brothers were eager to finally see the ocean, having had its sharp, salty tang in their noses for the last half hour.

Dean became slightly uneasy about their destination as they drove past expensive-looking condo resorts and huge mansions with private marinas full of luxurious motor yachts, sailboats, and equally fancy waterfront restaurants and shopping centers on Pond and Cedar Islands. Neon signs for familiar stores and restaurants that can be found anywhere in the U.S. made Dean question if he foolishly imagined the Outer Banks to be a secluded, laid back, come-as-you-are beach vacation spot.

However, as soon as the short stretch of well-known chain advertising was replaced by rustic local signs for joints like “Dirty Dick’s Crab House”, “Biscuits N’ Porn”, “Booty Treats Ice Cream” and “Stack’em High Pancakes”, and the houses on either side of the road looked much more modest again, he relaxed back into the surety that they had made the right decision.

A stop at a local supermarket/brewery/bait & tackle store and long chat – plus a couple of beers – with the owner has them well-supplied with groceries, beer and a list of recommendations no seasonal tourist would ever know about.

When they finally caught glimpses of the sparkling Atlantic Ocean and an almost empty beach between colorful mix of large and small, old and new houses, both brothers drew in a deep, relieved breath of the briny, warm air drifting in through the open car windows.

The last twenty minutes of the drive brought them southward along long stretches of almost uninhabited beach with only the occasional house or lifeguard station amidst golden sandy dunes and stands of gnarly low-growing evergreens and shrubs. It’s both breathtakingly beautiful and slightly daunting in its vast and stark loneliness. Even on a brilliantly clear and calm day, it’s easy to imagine how the power of wind and waves can quickly turn inescapably dangerous.

Never having spent any length of time by the ocean, Dean found it unexpectedly exhilarating and was doubly glad they made the long drive to be here. A quick glance at Sam’s eager expression, small smile and eyes that tried to dart everywhere at once to take it all in, told him that he wasn’t alone in that assessment.

Now that they finally turned off the main road, following the emailed directions from Dean’s contact on how to find their accommodations, the view of the sea disappears behind a large dune and the side street they’re traveling on is flanked by dense growth.

“Who gave you this map again?” Sam asks, sounding exasperated at the hand-drawn inaccuracy of it.

He hadn’t questioned Dean’s source of a rent-free beach home when his brother assured him that it was legit. It was good enough for him to know that they were actually getting what they’d played for during their insanely hot afternoon of panty-kink-fueled sex back at the bunker. He simply packed a bag and was ready to leave at the appointed time, acknowledging that this amount of blind trust and complete lack of planning was very unlike him, but that he was fucking desperate to make the most of this rare opportunity to leave their ridiculously crazy hunting life behind for a short while.

Dean doesn’t take his eyes off the narrow track as he answers.

“Remember that case a few years back in Knoxville with the funny old dude?”

Sam scrunches his brow in thought. “The haunted mill? Uhm….Quinn was his name, I think.”

“That’s it. Angus Quinn. I remembered that he told us he was from the Outer Banks.”

“Really? That’s impressive, Dean,” Sam mocks his brother. “You barely ever remember stuff like that.”

“Yeah, well, he told me his great-great-great-whatever-grandfather sailed with Blackbeard and settled somewhere around here so it kinda stuck with me.”

Sam’s groan is impressive and only Dean could tell that it is not at all sexual or pleased.

“Not _pirates_ again….”

“Hey,” Dean protests, “This pirate got us a free vacation house, ok?”

Dean hears the eye roll in Sam’s sigh.

“Fine. So, how’d that help?”

“I called him up to ask for a suggestion on a beach house rental around here and he told me we could use his. He used to live here. His father built the house and he took it over and raised his kids here before moving to Knoxville to run his wife’s family mill. Now his son owns the house and rents it out when their own extended family doesn’t use it for vacation. Angus said he owed us one, so no charge.”

“The son doesn’t live in it?”

“Naw, his son Brody owns a small fishing charter company in Virginia Beach and stays up there most of the time. And vacation season is over, so here we are.”

Just as Dean finishes, the lane makes a sharp turn and ends in a large open lot of hard packed dirt covered in more of the crushed seashells. Both brothers lean forward to take in the large house in front of them.

“Huh,” they comment in unison.

Sitting on ten-foot stilts above the ground, the house looks like it might have started out as a humble two-story structure of vaguely rectangular shape that had been built onto several times to make room for a growing family. The result is a slightly crazy, but interesting, collection of box-shaped editions that allowed for the construction of porches and balconies on both levels of the house and what seems to be a sundeck or widow’s walk at the very top. The entire structure is covered in weathered cedar shingles and sports wooden staircases accessing both the front and back decks. There is a hand-carved wooden sign mounted above the red front door that reads “Shell Yeah”.

“Yup, that’s it.” Dean points at the sign.

“How can you tell? Did they send you pictures?”

“Naw, they name their houses around here. It’s tradition. ‘Shell Yeah’ is it.”

Dean grins and gets out of the car, trying to ignore the creaking of his knees which have lately started to resemble that of Baby’s doors.

Sam climbs out as well and Dean can hear the progressive popping of his brother’s spine as he stretches luxuriously on the other side of the Impala and lets out a moan of pure pleasure.

“Hey, save that for later,” Dean calls across the roof of their ride with a cocky jut of his chin and loves the way that brings a sparkle to his brother’s eyes.

“Plenty more where that came from, Dean.” Sam grins back but then turns around to the house. “Cool place. Let’s check it out.”

Sam grabs their duffels while Dean takes the first load of groceries and beer and they climb the stairs to the front door where Dean retrieves the hidden key and opens the house.

What strikes them both first is the incredible view they have from the entrance, straight across the open kitchen and living room space and out the back bank of large windows and sliding glass door, over the rail of the adjacent deck to the gently rolling dunes and finally the deep blue ocean.

As if in a trance, Sam and Dean drop their stuff by in the entryway and traverse the entire house to open the back door and step out into the fresh breeze.

“Wow,” Sam can’t find any better expression of his awe.

“Fucking right,” Dean says exuberantly next to Sam as they lean on the railing and let their gaze travel left and right.

It seems as if they are completely _alone_ on the planet. Vast expanse of multi-hued ocean, hypnotic pattern of white-capped surf, dome of bright sky dotted by groups of soaring pelicans and seagulls, light-tan of the fine sandy beach and dunes interrupted only by patches of sea oats and small blankets of daisy-like flowers in the colors of a sunset for as far as they can see. No people. No houses. No nothing.

“This is….”

“Awesome…”

They grin at each other like kids.

Continuing their exploration, they step back into the house and take a look around.

Everything has a nautical theme, complete with large taxidermied fish on the wall and a ship’s wheel under glass for a coffee table, but it exudes a genuine, well-loved and well-lived-in feel, not at all like a cheesy tourist gift shop. Wooden walls, wooden floors, wooden ceiling with wooden rafters, a wooden bar with stools seem like they should be too much, but contrasted with plentiful light from the many windows, the white painted kitchen cabinets, the gleaming stainless steel appliances and tan living room furniture, it simply seems cozy and comfortable. The same theme continues through the rest of the house. The art on the walls is a mix of photography and paintings depicting the local area, shelves and nooks throughout displaying collections of antique lanterns, decorative woodwork from old ships, sea glass and driftwood that is most definitely found, not bought.

The entire place gives the impression of a tree house or an old sailing vessel full of treasured objects as is sits high over the dunes and the sea.

Dean is thrilled to find a large gas grill on the back deck. Sam can’t believe their luck that the master bedroom features a very sturdy wooden bed with an oversized king mattress and the bathroom has a shower large enough that he doesn’t have to duck.

After completing their tour of the house and putting away the groceries, they finally grab a beer and climb to the very top deck that affords them a 360 view of the beach, ocean, and the sound just as the sun starts to paint the horizon in shades of crimson and gold.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dean takes a deep breath and is rewarded with the smell of the ocean and nothing else. He’s standing on the main balcony of their free rental home, leaning forward slightly on the railing. His short hair dried quickly in the breeze from his shower minutes before. The cabin is silent with Sam out on a quick run to the mini mart closer to the mainland and Dean takes in the view as the sun inches closer to the horizon behind the house, lighting the ebb and swell of the water in front of him.

They’ve been all over the country. It’s not like Dean’s never seen the ocean, but he’s never really _experienced_ it. He didn’t expect it to feel so different from Kansas. It’s not even the climate or temperature really, but it’s the monochromatic look of the blue sky, the blue Atlantic, and the light sand. There’s very little contrast. No deep greens or much delineation between land and sky like there is back home. The lack of color variation results in less visual clutter and that has the effect of instantly relaxing his shoulders. It’s zen in a way. Like his brain can chill out without all the details and variety he’s used to seeing in the Kansas landscape. Not to mention the expanse of the water. It’s endless. He can’t even see anything on the horizon that someone might want to sail towards. It’s…peaceful.

It’s been a good two days. The eclectic rental beach house décor made him feel instantly at home, thanks to decades of questionable interior decorating choices at pretty much every motel they’d ever visited. Sam shook his head at the taxidermy swordfish, but Dean could tell that he was relaxing – posture less rigid, smile more frequent, easily sinking into the couch and naturally sprawling out whenever they came back inside. Dean didn’t know just how good it would make him feel to watch Sam let his guard down, stress peeling away in layers with each day that passed.

Day one was spent almost entirely out on the beach. Sam revealed to Dean, somewhere on the long drive through Virginia, that he hadn’t played Frisbee on the sand since Stanford so Dean made sure to buy one at a tourist trap on the way in. Sam’s face lit up when he produced it from his duffel after the breakfast of bacon and eggs that he cooked and Sam devoured, and they raced each other to the surf, tossing the Frisbee until they realized they’d entirely forgotten about lunch. Sam tried to make sure that Dean kept applying sunscreen – Dean told him to quit nagging several times – but that was the only reason his skin wasn’t on fire by the time they’d constructed the largest hero sandwiches possible on crusty hoagie rolls well after noon. They spent late afternoon on the deck, Sam reading Old World Witchcraft: Ancient Ways for Modern Days. “Really, Sammy? _That’s_ what you want to read on vacation?” he’d asked before turning back to trolling the net for interesting local haunts – expanding the list they’d been given on the way in. He knew he’d hit pay dirt when he found the Outer Banks Distilling Company, makers of Kill Devil Hills rum. Dean had let out a “Oh, hell, yes!” and Sam looked over his glasses at him. “C’mon, Sam, they’ve got _pirates_ and maps and shit on the bottles!” Sam reluctantly agreed to go into town the next day with only a little bit of an eye roll over his brother’s never-ending pirate obsession. Dean was still tired from the long drive by the end of that first day, and after he caught Sam trying to hide a yawn, he told him they should stay in. Dean thought it really couldn’t get much better than popcorn in an old air popper Sam found under the cabinet, blanketed in real melted butter, and both of them stretched out on the couch together watching the first Pirates of the Caribbean.

Day two found them sleeping in. It was one of only a handful of times Dean could ever remember doing that that did not involve a massive hangover. It felt incredibly luxurious to wake up closer to noon than dawn, glance over at Sam, still asleep, and sneak off to make coffee. By 11:00, Dean was sitting impatiently on the deck, second bowl of cereal empty on the side table next to him, waiting for Sam to wake up. When Sam wandered out with his hair going every which way, rubbing his eyes, Dean thrust a coffee cup at him, ready to go. 

By the time the distillery opened for tours, they’d been sitting in the parking lot for fifteen minutes, which felt to Dean like an hour, and he practically jogged inside when the doors were unlocked. Sam shook his head and followed with a smile, paying for the tour before Dean could. Dean’s a confirmed whiskey man, but even though they made rum here, he couldn’t stop smiling. The place was awesome. It was run by some very laid-back guys, each tattooed up and down both arms and extremely knowledgeable in all aspects of their craft. He was happy to see how interested Sam was – the science behind distilling rum got his brain going and the guys giving the tour seemed like men they wouldn’t mind hanging out with over a game of pool. Dean didn’t know that the place appealed to Sam so much that it fleetingly made Sam wonder what he and Dean would have done if they hadn’t been hunters. With his science ability and Dean’s people skills…maybe…Sam warned himself that “what ifs” were never good for anything but pangs of regret and he got back to concentrating on the tour.

Half an hour after the tour concluded, Sam’s brain wasn’t feeling quite so sharp after they’d tasted every permutation of rum the distillery produced. They’d started with the tiny plastic tasting cups, but when the other tourists moved on to the gift shop and Sam and Dean didn’t, the owners broke out the brandy glasses and got serious about it. Dean chose his favorites and bought three bottles to take with them. They were both feeling loose and mellow when they thanked their hosts and made their way back to the Impala. Sam thought it would be a good idea to soak up the rum with some food and Dean wholeheartedly agreed, stopping for some burgers before leaving town.

On the way back to the beach house, they passed signs for the Fort Raleigh National Historic Site – _the_ lost colony of Roanoke. Sam pulled more info up on his phone. They had a recreated 16th century settlement but Dean didn’t give it any serious consideration until Sam told him about the accompanying 16th century sailing ship. It was getting late, but the place was still open for a while longer and Dean relented. They spent the last hour and a half of the afternoon exploring the place. Sam soaked in the history as fast as he could, reading every plaque and picking up pamphlets to read in the car later. Dean wandered the decks of the ship, thinking about pirates and wondering if some of the period weapons on display would be useful in hunting vampires. They looked like they had some promise in that area. Finally, he made Sam take a picture of them together behind the ship’s wheel. Sam has a great wingspan for selfies.

Back at the house, when Sam said he wanted to build a fire on the beach, Dean couldn’t resist teasing him for being so romantic. “It’s for the hot dogs, dumbass,” Sam replied with a slight chuckle. Dean was always up for hot dogs. Several dogs and half an hour of Frisbee later, Sam kicked sand over the fire and they headed back to the rental. Dean insisted Sam take a shower first and then pleaded with him to make a run for some Coke.

“What for?” Sam had asked.

“Rum and Cokes, duh,” Dean had replied like it was the most obvious answer.

Sam had raised an eyebrow at his brother. “You – _you_ want a mixed drink?”

“Vacation, Sammy,” Dean justified. “If you’re gonna do something fancy, now’s the time.”

“Fancy??? Dean, I could make you a real mixed drink with the rum. I could pick up some more stuff and make one of those Conquitos they had at the distillery.”

“A drink shouldn’t have milk in it,” Dean replied. “Rum and Coke _is_ a mixed drink. C’mon please?”

Sam slowly stood up and grabbed the keys. “You owe me,” he called over his shoulder.

Dean heard the Impala rumble to life and took it as his cue to hit the shower.

Now he feels the heat on his skin even though the sun is low in the sky. Sam kept chasing him with the spray-on sunscreen in the late afternoon, but even Sam wasn’t entirely vigilant enough. His cool shower felt heavenly and he’d slid into his favorite jeans, leaving his belt in the duffel. He hears the Impala crunching back up the ground shell driveway and undoes the top button of his jeans with a small smirk.

“You’d think they’d have a store a little closer out here ‘cause –“ Dean hears Sam’s words die in his throat and hears something clatter lightly to the floor. If Dean weren’t looking out at the ocean he’d know it was Sam’s sunglasses hitting the ground, having slipped from the corner of his mouth where he’d been holding them by the plastic arm, his hands occupied with the grocery bags. Slipped because Sam’s mouth is hanging open.

Dean’s leaning casually against the railing, back to Sam, air-dried hair a bit fluffier than usual. Dean’s favorite jeans hanging low, waistband loose, and arcing over the top of that waistband is a strip of soft, black lace. _That_ lace.

“ ‘Cause what, Sammy?” Dean asks, all innocence, turning slowly to face him, leaning against the railing with his hips now and Sam takes in the image of his shirtless brother, more freckles that usual on his sun-kissed shoulders, jeans riding low on his hips, held up only by the bulge in the front.

“ ‘Cause, um, ‘cause,” Sam gives up, drops the bags, and is in front of Dean in two long strides. “You brought ‘em,” Sam sighs into Dean’s mouth seconds before he’s molding his lips to his brother’s and pressing in with his tongue.

Dean pulls back for a breath and manages, “If this is what I get, I think I’ll keep ‘em in the back of the Impala and take ‘em everywhere we go so – “ Dean’s words are shut down by Sam’s suddenly-demanding tongue.

Dean lets Sam overtake him; Sam’s tongue in his mouth, Sam’s strong arms braced inside his on the railing, he stretches up to keep contact with his brother’s amazing lips and they make out, hunger for each other apparent, until Dean’s neck threatens to cramp.

“Whoa, tiger,” Dean growls when he breaks the kiss and allows himself to stand flat-footed again, warm boards of the deck solid under his bare feet. Sam chases him down as he goes but stops short of diving back in when Dean’s words register. A silent, breathless question crosses Sam’s features.

“How ‘bout that drink?” Dean asks, eyes playful.

Sam throws his head back and groans. “You want me to go make you a drink, with you looking like this…wearing _those_?! You fucking _tease_!”

Dean revels in the effect that these particular panties have on his brother. Sam’s instant and overwhelming response to them makes him feel like a sex God and he could get used to that.

“Pretty please?” Dean looks up at Sam through his eyelashes. He wants them to take their time and enjoy this, even though the hunger in Sam’s eyes makes him believe that his brother has other ideas.

Dean bucks when Sam’s large hand unexpectedly plunges down the open V of his jeans and starts palming his cock through the soft lace. “Holy fuck, Sammy,” he grits out, letting his head fall back. His hips move into Sam’s touch on their own as he looks up at the sky and tries not to just give in. It would be so very easy.

“You know what these do to me, Dean.” It almost sounds like Sam’s reprimanding him and Dean’s cock gives a strong twitch in response causing Sam to raise an eyebrow at the effect his words have on his brother. Sam keeps going, “You wear those and you expect me to stop? You think I _can_ stop?” The contrast winds Sam up – feeling his brother hard and hot under the soft, pliable lace of the panties.

Dean reluctantly tears his eye from the twilit sky and grabs Sam’s wrist, pulling it from his jeans and guiding his brother’s thumb between his lips, sucking, playfully teasing over the tip with his tongue before letting it go. “Not ‘stop’ Sammy, just ‘make it last’.” He leans in closer, Sam’s breath heavy against his cheek. Dean’s voice is rougher than the crushed shell driveway as he slowly, deliberately says, “I want you to take me apart, little brother. “ Sam closes his eyes and swallows hard. Dean knows Sam loves taking direction from him – when he chooses to, of course, and hardly any other time – when they’re amped up with want, when Sam’s vast imagination uses Dean’s words to create images, clear as day, like porn straight from Dean’s mouth. Once, when they were relegated to getting each other off on the phone, several states apart, Sam divulged what Deans words do to him and Dean’s never forgotten. “I want you to fuck me out here, right out here in the open with that porn star cock of yours.” Sam whimpers and leans his forehead against Dean’s, eyes still closed, and Dean imagines Sam’s actually seeing it behind his eyelids. “Want you to fuck me until you fill me up.” Sam moves in to get his lips back on Dean’s, but Dean gently presses a flat palm against his brother’s chest. “I want you to pull the panties down just far enough to get that fucking huge cock inside ‘a me and split me open.” Sam’s eyes fly open, wound up even higher thanks to the helpful images assaulting his brain. He looks ready to tear into Dean and moves his hands to his brother’s hips to spin him around and press his stomach against the railing to so he can get to work, but Dean anticipates his move and grabs his wrists again. “But first, I want a rum a Coke.” Dean’s eyes sparkle, “Bitch.”

Sam gives Dean a hard look. He shakes loose of his brother’s grip on his wrists and takes a small step back, eyes sweeping Dean’s body and fastening on the hard on under the panties beneath the barely-hanging-on jeans. Dean sees the emotions warring on his face. What he wants to do fighting with what Dean just asked him to do. He’s not actually sure which way Sam’s going to go. He’s pretty much fucking him with his eyes already.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Dean says in a measured tone and he’s sure it gives Sam some satisfaction to hear how hard he’s struggling for control himself between his words and his breathing. Something ever-so-subtle shifts in Sam’s eyes, something that looks like determination, and Sam gives Dean a small, silent nod, walking back to the kitchen and turning to pick up the bags from the floor, bending slowly thanks to the incessant pressure in his groin.

 _‘Dean wants to draw it out? Game on,’_ Sam thinks to himself as he slowly unpacks the groceries, puts away the food, and strips off his shirt before setting out a glass and carefully opening the rum, followed by the hiss of a can of Coke.

Sam catches sight of Dean out the corner of his eye, hand flying to his crotch to press back his own building arousal when he sees Sam strip off his shirt and Sam smirks at the effect his body has on his brother. Like gasoline on a fire. But to each other, they’re both the gasoline and they’re both the fire. They’re both pretending that the wait isn’t killing them.

It’s totally killing them.

Sam chooses the one they tasted earlier that he thinks would be best for a mixed drink – the Gold Rum – smooth and a bit smoky, seems like it would go well with the hint of cinnamon in the Coke. Sam makes sure to mix it strong – way more rum than Coke. He picks up the glass as well as an unopened bottle of another variety and walks back over to Dean whose chest is flushed from more than just the sun. Dean holds out his hand for the tumbler, but Sam pulls it away from him and holds it high out of reach, smiling as he sets down the bottle.

“And _I’m_ the fucking tease?” Dean grouses.

Sam brings the glass down, takes a big gulp. He closes his eyes as the mellow burn washes across his tongue spiked by the fizz in the soda. The molasses kind of hits him in the back of his throat and the bit of vanilla and caramel he tastes there makes him smile, reminding him of bourbon just enough to make him sure Dean’s gonna love it.

Sam thinks it’s sweet that Dean thinks he’s the one in control – asking Sam to slow down – making him make him a drink – after winding him up by telling Sam what he wants him to do to him. Fuck that. Dean wants him to take him apart? Sam can’t fucking wait to do it.

Without a sound, Sam sets down the glass and steps into Dean’s space, pressing their bare chests together. Dean’s muscles resist in surprise for a second, but he goes supple when Sam gets one hand on his jaw and the other firmly grasps a fistful of short hair at the back of Dean’s neck. He angles Dean’s head back and his brother reflexively opens up for him. Sam seals their lips together and slowly empties the rum from his own mouth into his brother’s.

Dean groans, and swallows, immediately opening up for more. “Fuck that’s good,” he mumbles into Sam’s mouth. Then he waits for Sam to feed him again. Any signs of Dean’s desire to control the situation seem to have evaporated and Sam takes the opportunity to lick the taste of the rum from his brother’s mouth.

Sam breaks away, keeping a grip on Dean’s hair, but releasing his jaw to lift the glass and take another mouthful. This time, he floods Dean’s mouth all at once and is fast enough to catch the little rivulet that slides from the corner of those plush lips with his tongue. He feels Dean’s cock pressing against the denim of his jeans.

Finally, he hands over the half-full glass and lets Dean drain it in one go under his own power. He knows how much Dean likes the sudden, heady, relaxing rush he gets from alcohol downed too quickly and he feels his brother sag back against the railing.

Sam uncurls his fist in Dean’s hair and spreads his fingers out instead, snaking up the back of his skull and cradling his head while he tongue-fucks his mouth. He sucks in Dean’s tongue, playing with it, licking at the rum that lingers there. Sam’s free hand ghosts over the lace on his brother’s hip. Dean croaks out “front right pocket” and Sam feels for the tube he knows he’ll find there before gently working the jeans up and off Dean’s erection and letting them fall to the ground. He can see his brother’s giving up, giving it over to Sam to call the shots. Dean’s razor-sharp mind and fast reaction training need a break sometimes and Sam understands completely. He can do this for Dean. He loves doing this for Dean.

“Get outta those,” Sam instructs, before Dean steps to the side and out of the heap of denim which Sam immediately sends sailing down the deck with a kick. Dean locks eyes with him and Sam knows he’s waiting to be told what to do. He can’t keep from blushing at the sight of Dean in nothing but those hot as fuck gorgeous black lace men’s panties, hard like steel with the dark pink head of his cock poking up above the waistband, wet patch marking the edge of it from his arousal. Heavy balls filling out the stretched-tight pouch in the front. He looks better than any wet dream Sam’s ever had and he knows he’s going to feel even hotter to the touch than usual thanks to the slight sunburn on his back. His brother’s gonna be burning up inside too and Sam needs to get his cock there _now._ The things the panties do to him; the delicate lace over solid muscle, the black over the white skin of his brother’s hips that have never seen the sun, the way they cradle him and stretch over him and hold him in all the right places, and the way they make his _ass_ look.

“Turn around,” Sam commands, the rich low tone of his own voice surprising him. “And hold on tight to that railing,” short pause for effect, “big brother.”

Dean turns, plants his feet about fifteen inches apart, hangs his head down, and grips the rail with white knuckles. His ass curves perfectly inside the black band of lace. Sam’s fingers stutter clumsily to get his own jeans undone and his boxer briefs off while Dean waits, already breathing heavily though Sam hasn’t even touched him yet. Sam can’t tear his eyes off that muscled ass in the completely incongruous lingerie. So fucking hot. He might have the porn star cock, but Dean has the porn star ass.

“Fucking Jesus Christ, Dean,” Sam breathes as he steps up close behind his brother.

Dean’s voice is a needy whisper when it reaches Sam’s ears, “Fuck me. Take me apart, little brother,” and that’s all Sam needs. He steps in close behind him, reaches to the front, and slides his hands inside the panties, trapping his own fingers there alongside Dean’s straining cock while he rubs himself against the material pulled over the crack of Dean’s ass from behind.

Dean presses back, moving with him, and Sam groans loudly, working his hands lower and fondling Dean’s balls as much as the fabric will allow. The soft cloth presses his hands against the base of Dean’s shaft and he can feel his brother’s cock twitch at the contact. _‘Make it last,’_ Sam reminds himself, though he wants to wrap his hand around Dean and feel his brother come all over his fingers. He knows he could stroke Dean off just the way he loves it, but that’s not what Dean asked for.

He puts a palm flat on each of Dean’s thighs, panties across his wrists like handcuffs, pressing his hands into his brother’s skin. He rubs his own cock off to diamond hardness, stretching the lace down into the crack of Dean’s ass with his entire length, pressing sharply with his palms to force his as much friction between his cock and his brother’s body as he can. Making it last is going to be a challenge. His brain isn’t helping, painting pictures of his white come over Dean’s back, sliding down and over Dean’s ass in contrast with the black panties – it could happen right now. It takes a Herculean effort to halt his rising orgasm and he has to shut his eyes for a moment just to stop seeing what’s in front of him.

“Yeah, Sammy, oh fuck yeah,” Dean drawls, undulating his hips in time with Sam’s cock sliding against him.

“So hot in these fucking things,” Sam pants out. “Gonna let me see what’s inside those panties?” Sam gets his lips close to Dean’s ear and Dean only nods. Sam pulls his hands from the front of Dean’s thighs. He shifts slightly to the side, his cock hard as nails, and he can’t help rutting against the black strip embracing Dean’s hip. Bottle of lube in one hand, he quickly slicks up two fingers on the other, deftly sliding his palm inside the panties, down Dean’s ass, and presses those two slippery fingers inside his brother.

“Fuck Sammy, fuck,” Dean raises his head to stare out at the dark expanse of ocean where he finds nothing to distract his mind from Sam working him open. Back and forth, relentless like the waves, and he finds himself unconsciously fucking Sam’s hand to the rhythm of the surf against the sand. Sam starts gently, slowly. His brain wants him to hurry up, to get Dean open as fast as he can for what’s next, but he stays in control. Inch by inch he presses in, long fingers pushing and rubbing and he feels his brother’s velvety heat pulling at him, draws back when he’s about halfway, adds more lube, and surges in, pinning Dean to the railing with a thrust of his hand.

“Oh fuck,” Dean cries as Sam reaches his prostate, slowly massaging with his fingertips. He’s rewarded with Dean’s ass, pushing back to meet his hand, forcing his fingers deeper. Sam adds a third and notices the muscles in his brother’s arms flexing as he presses back from the railing, using his arms to work his body back and forth on Sam’s fingers. Sam speeds up and Dean matches him. Sam loves this. Loves seeing Dean lost in the pure pleasure of it. Not self conscious in the least, not conscious of much except chasing the building caress inside of him, body reaching back to Sam’s reaching in. “That’s it, Dean,” Sam encourages him. “Helping me get you ready, wish you could see yourself right now.” And even though Sam can’t actually see where he’s entering Dean, stretching black material blocking his view, it’s more than enough to watch Dean move with him, to see a slight sheen of sweat break out across his brother’s back, to hear the grunts and the occasional groan when Sam get’s a particularly good stroke in on his prostate.

“Need you,” Dean confesses, and he feels Sam’s hand disappear. The lace of the panties snap back into place against his skin and he shivers.

Sam takes a deep breath, the light of the living room behind him illuminating his brother’s pale skin as he yanks down the center of the black lace panties, leaving them hugging Dean’s hips, but just low enough to –

He holds the panties down with one hand and with the other gingerly takes hold of his oversensitive cock. He doesn’t spread Dean open, he just goes by feel, guiding the wide head up against what seems like an impossibly small opening. Dean exhales, widens his stance a bit, and, keeping a grip on the railing, leans forward to raise his ass up for his brother. Dean braces himself and Sam presses forward. He couldn’t be more turned on and he’s always slightly worried that it’s just going to be too much. That he’s too big, even for Dean. He listens until he hears Dean release a long-held breath, and at that moment, Sam pushes hard, past the ring of muscle and into Dean’s burning heat. Sam makes a broken noise at the same time Dean does and he uses all of his restraint to hold still once he’s inside. He stretches his arms out along the railing and blankets Dean’s hands with his own, trapping him, overwhelming him, giving him no choice, no thought, no decision, just the way he needs it.

Dean’s body grips his cock so tightly, he wants to just let go and fill him up – _‘make it last_ ’ - Sam presses forward another millimeter, then another, then another, then an inch at a time until Dean’s moaning beneath him and he’s gasping above. He feels Dean’s hands moving under his palms, fingers grasping. Sam interlaces their fingers and presses his chest against Dean’s back which is hot from the sun. There’s heat everywhere – against his chest – enveloping the entire length of his cock – burning through his groin – against his palms where Dean’s hands are held immobile under his own.

“Please,” Dean begs quietly beneath him. “Do it, Sammy.”

Sam’s sweating as he pulls back with measured breaths and slams forward, forcing Dean hard up against the railing. Dean yells as Sam drives home, targeting his prostate. Black lace sling below his cock riding along his length with each pass, the fabric stroking him from underneath as he fucks his brother to the rhythm of the sea water breaking and receding and breaking again.

The railing shakes and Dean’s fists close hard under Sam’s fingers. Dean’s holding on for dear life and giving a little cry each time Sam buries to the hilt.

“Fuck,” Sam pants, “So tight; feel so good Dean.” Now it’s Sam’s knuckles going white with the force of holding onto the railing with his brother’s hands between his and the hard wood. Dean’s body doesn’t resist. It welcomes him. It grasps at his cock in the most exquisite way. Like Dean’s still in some control, able to flex his muscles around Sam’s length. It feels like heaven, and Sam could easily come this way, right now, but it’s not good enough. Dean’s still holding on – wanting to make Sam feel good. Holding on enough to have the presence of mind to close down on Sam’s cock and make him see stars. Sam sets the bar a bit higher for himself. He can do better.

Sam changes his angle slightly and releases his fingers from his brother’s to get some blood back into them. He snakes a hand under the lace on each of Dean’s hips and slightly lifts his ass to get even deeper. Sam doesn’t hold back. He grips Dean’s hips so tightly, he knows he’ll leave fingerprint-shaped bruises, and ever so slightly pulls him apart, stretching him and allowing Sam to get the last half inch of his cock inside of Dean. He fucks him relentlessly and Dean’s holding on with all he has, chin up head tipped back slightly. That’s when he feels it, Dean opening up for him. Dean’s taking everything he’s giving him; his body is like an open highway and Sam goes into overdrive.

Sam’s leaking furiously now and it helps slick the way, going deeper than he thought possible just a few minutes ago when he first breached his brother. Dean’s not trying to _give_ anymore, he’s hanging on for the ride. Sam’s racing towards the finish line and he’s taking Dean with him, dammit.

Sam lets go of Dean’s hips and yanks his hands out from under the lace, slamming them back down on top of his brother’s on the railing. Without the slight lift, Dean comes down hard on his cock and the in and out is actually _easy_ now, Dean’s so relaxed. Sam sweats and grunts with the effort of keeping up the pace. Dean’s silent beneath him, lost in every sensation. Sam starts to feel Dean tighten gradually around his cock and he doesn’t let up. He knows Dean’s close and Sam’s determined to hold out, but the heat and the force and the pounding and the pressure, it’s taking him down with it now too.

“ _Goddamit_ ,” he really can’t stop it, and it’s overtaking him - Dean’s willingness, this connection, it wells up in his chest and bursts out, voice strained. “I fucking love you.” And Sam comes. Hips thrusting, chest pressed against his brother’s back, balls emptying into Dean as he shoves into him repeatedly, come oozing out around his plunging cock and building up along the edge of the lace panties that scrape his release from his shaft with every push back in. It’s incredibly hot and slick and dirty and he feels like his body is on complete autopilot. Wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure wash over him. He stays hard through burst after burst.

“Oh fuck, yeah, Sammy, yeah, fuck, don’t stop, so fucking full,” are the first words Dean’s spoken in many minutes. Sam feels Dean stop moving in unison with him, feels his ass contract around his cock hard, one last time, then a rippling sensation along his shaft and he knows Dean’s release is exploding over the top of the panties still trapping him in the front. Sam quickly releases Dean’s hands, feeling his own numb fingers fumble for his brother’s cock, pushing the panties down to Dean’s balls as he strokes him off through the final spasms of orgasm, completely filling him from behind and staying that way – connected, fused, complete.

Finally, they stop moving entirely. Dean’s chest is flat against the railing, arms spread to the side, ass still pressed to Sam’s groin, accommodating him. Sam peels himself off his brother’s back on quivering legs. He hears Dean’s broken breathing, fighting for air to calm the heart hammering in his chest from the ferocious give and take. Sam starts rubbing Dean’s lower back as he slowly, gently, pulls out with even more care than he went in.

Sam’s cock hits his thigh with a wet thud, come spilling from his brother over the panties now stretched in a tight line below his ass. White rush breaking over the black lace and rushing down with gravity. Sam watches, transfixed. So dirty, so beautiful, seeing his come standing out in stark contrast against the black, seeing how much he gave Dean, the effect his brother has on him – makes him lose his mind even when he’s the one calling the shots. His own heart is starting to slow down enough to speak. “Hey,” Sam coaxes softly, “Lemme get you outta those.”

Dean barely nods in reply and Sam slides a hand under each side of the panties and drags them down his brother’s legs, going to his knees along with them, kissing down Dean’s legs as he goes and tugging at Dean’s ankles until he lifts each foot to free them. He sets the stretched-out, soaked scrap of lace reverently on a nearby chair. He thinks the solid deck under his knees feels like a damn good idea, suddenly realizing just how hard he fucked his brother. He’s going to have some sore muscles tomorrow. He rubs at Dean’s calves, stretches up to kiss the curve of his ass, back down the backs of his thighs, lips catching a few drops of come. He licks his lips and rolls the taste across his tongue. “Hey, turn around for me, okay?” 

With a heavy sigh, Dean presses his body up on his forearms, lifts his head, holds that for a minute until the beach stops spinning, then slowly turns and sags against the railing. He looks down at Sam in front of him, eyelids at half-mast.

Sam’s eyes are shining and Dean sees nothing but love. He _has_ nothing but love for Sam. It’s like looking in a mirror; they have the same grateful, relaxed expression. Dean puts a hand against the side of Sam’s face and Sam closes his eyes and leans into it. “C’mere,” Dean rasps out and uses the minimal strength he has left to haul Sam to his feet. With Dean’s weight against the railing, his legs slightly splayed in front of him, Sam steps up, stiff muscles protesting, straddling his brother’s legs with his own. Dean pulls Sam down for a kiss that’s slow and deep and flowing in its warm ecstasy. Sam can feel Dean’s gratitude in the way his brother’s tongue caresses him, his full lips letting Sam sink in and holding him there. When they stop for a breath, Dean leans his forehead on Sam’s shoulder. “Thanks,” he mumbles, and Sam wraps his arms around him, rubbing slow circles across Dean’s back.

The temperature is rapidly dropping when Sam grabs a sun-dried towel off a nearby deck chair and slings it onto the double chaise. He puts an arm around Dean’s waist and guides him over, spreading the towel out neatly before lowering him to sit. They’re a mess. Sam’s hair is wild, he’s sticky with sweat. Their thighs are slicked with come almost to the knees and Sam winces at the red abrasion across Dean’s chest from the railing and the dark red lines in his brother’s palms.

Dean notices the regret on Sam’s face. “You don’t know how bad I needed that,” he says as he pulls Sam down next to him on the chaise lounge and they cover up with a second beach towel. “Do not give me that look.” Sam’s guilt eases with his brother reassurance. Dean reaches for the unopened rum Sam brought out earlier, cracks the seal, and takes a swig right out of the bottle. “Damn, you gotta try this,” he says, between the first swallow and the second. “Tastes kinda like pecan pie – it’s awesome,” and he hands the bottle to Sam who accepts it and puts his lips where his brother’s had been. Dean’s right. The flavor assaults his nose in the best way; like some kind of slightly nutty pastry. Yeah, this one’s good straight up. Sam takes another swig and appreciates the mellow burn in his throat, further relaxing his fucked-out body. He passes the bottle back to Dean who takes two big slugs before setting it aside.

Dean stretches out with a groan and laces his fingers together behind his head. Sam kisses the angry red line across his brother’s pecs before pulling his own hair back out of his face and settling his cheek down on Dean’s chest. He listens to the even rise and fall under his cheek and feels more than just his own bone-deep satisfaction. Dean’s peaceful. Calm. Relaxed. That’s a rare trifecta where his brother’s concerned and Sam’s heart swells with pride at being the one to help him get there.

As if on cue, the lights from the rental house, on a security timer for most of the year, click off, leaving them completely surrounded by the night. The darkness frees them of any stubborn, residual inhibitions and Sam feels Dean’s arm snake around him, pulling him closer. Sam feels it deep in his chest. Deeper than any words his brother could speak right now. Comfort. Love. Belonging. They don’t say anything. They look up at the amazing array of stars in the sky. Sam inhales sharply when they glimpse a shooting star. Dean quickly kisses the top of his head.

“Fucking need you, Sammy,” Dean says, looking straight up into the sky. “Couldn’t do this without you.”

“Me too,” Sam says into the firm muscle of his brother’s chest. “Wouldn’t want any of it without you.”

It’s quiet for a few moments before Sam hears Dean whisper to him, “Best vacation ever.”

“Yeah, it is,” Sam whispers back.

They still have five days ahead of them. Five days of quiet and beach and movies and rum and Frisbee and, if they’re lucky, this. Closer to the start of the vacation than the end, everything feels perfect right now. They have something completely foreign to them; they have time. Sam has no doubt that they’ll fill their wide-open days and even less doubt that he will love every minute of whatever they come up with. Sam’s mind wanders to speculating on what the rest of their vacation might hold. He thinks his brother may have drifted off, so he’s surprised to hear, “Stop thinking so hard, Sammy.” Dean picks his neck up slightly to look down at Sam on his chest. Sam looks up. Dean brushes Sam’s bangs out of his eyes. Sam stretches up to kiss him and Dean uses his lips to make it crystal clear to Sam how much he’s loved.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

There it is again. Bright flicker, tinged red through his eyelids. Dean cracks his eyes halfway open and squints trying to get orientated.

_‘The hell? Bunker’s electrical system finally giving out on us? Something worse?’_

The world illuminates sudden and brilliant, throwing the room into stark relief – wood-paneled wall, not brick and plaster; wall art of metal horses galloping across a length of driftwood, not his assortment of blades and guns; lavishly soft linen over a firm mattress and down pillow, not utilitarian sheets on his memory foam; spacious king size bed with his giant, warm lump of a zonked-out brother snoring softly next to him, not alone on a small double.

 _‘Ah, right, vacation house. Not bunker.’_ Dean smiles and stares into the returned darkness.

When the next flash brightens the night, he can actually see the lightning feather out across a deep purple sky in shades of white-blue and hot-orange. It flickers and travels for awhile before it dies away again, now joined by a low, long rumble of thunder in the distance.

Lying on his back, he folds one arm under his head and keeps his attention on the window. Waits. Watches. Listens. Counts. Enjoys the show nature’s putting on.

After twenty minutes of witnessing the steadily building storm, Dean gives up on the idea of sleep and slides out from under Sam’s heavy arm across his belly to get out of bed.

He looks down at his brother’s sprawled, slumbering form, taking up most of the king-sized bed diagonally, and shakes his head. It’s a mystery to him how Sam can sleep through any ruckus as long as it has natural causes, but when it’s a scuff of a shoe or swoosh of a blade being drawn or the click of a hammer being cocked, Sam is fully awake and ready to fight within a millisecond.

Dean himself has always been a light sleeper, even as a child. Innate need to watch over Sam, to make sure nothing was wrong, nothing was coming for them, to wait up for Dad, all of it conspired to never let him go under completely the way Sam could. As a kid, all Sam needed was having Dean close, preferably close enough to touch, and he would sleep through anything from a blizzard to a long bumpy ride in the Impala’s back seat. Meanwhile, Dean listened for a werewolf’s cry in the howling winds and made sure their Dad was awake at the wheel, catching very little restful sleep for himself.

As they grew older and Sam understood more about their lives and the realities of the world, sleep became a precious commodity for both of them, but in time, Sam learned how to cope, trusting Dean implicitly to keep them safe, and Dean learned how to power nap as any combat soldier does, even if he was only ten or eleven or twelve years old.

Dean can’t put his finger on the exact time their habits had turned into something more balanced, probably when Sam became more of his equal in stature and skill, but the fact is that he will never sleep as soundly as Sam or as long as Sam can when he’s undisturbed.

_‘At least not outside the bunker.’_

Right after they moved into the bunker, sleeping had been even harder. No matter how much Dean proclaimed that he enjoyed having his own room, incredible water pressure in the shower, a shooting range, a fully functional kitchen, and enough space to wander for days, the lack of windows and profound silence of the place at night made it feel like he was being tortured with complete sensory deprivation.

Eventually he found a way to relax enough, felt safe enough, or maybe he was exhausted enough by constant worry when Sam was enduring The Trials, that he started to sleep like the dead in the bunker. Dean soon came to realize that it was exactly the peace and quiet there that he appreciated the most because it gave his over-taxed nerves and senses a break. Although, he has the feeling that living in the bunker for as long as they have has only made him more aware of the slightest changes in the environment around him when they are out on the road these days. Apparently, though, those rules don’t apply to an actual vacation because he’s had at least two out of four nights of completely restful sleep. A record in his book.

Tonight, however, he doesn’t mind the interruption, appreciating the chance to see out a window for a change and not one that overlooks some half-empty motel parking lot with its dim artificial lighting, cracked asphalt and sprouting weeds.

Dean walks up to the glass door leading to the small balcony right off their bedroom and leans against the frame with both hands spread wide. From here he has a spectacular view of both the ocean and Roanoke Sound and he watches in fascination at the way the water is being whipped into white, frothy peaks, the sea oats on the dunes swaying crazily and the beach pelted by squalls of driving rain every time nature sends up another flare of lightning, bathing the scenery in day-bright light for a second.

It’s violently beautiful in its relentless power and it sends a chill of understanding down Dean’s spine at the thought of what the seafarers of old had to deal with.

“Dean?” Sam’s sleep-groggy voice breaks through his meandering thoughts. It sounds higher and smaller than usual and the child-like tone of it sends a warm breeze of memory through him.

“Go back to sleep, Sammy. Just a storm.” Dean says softly but doesn’t turn from the window.

He hears a sound like a dry whisper followed by the scratching noise that he associates with Sam rubbing his eyes, raking the hair off his face and scraping his fingernails through this stubble.

“Dean.” This time the voice is deeper and filled with warm concern. Dean doesn’t have to look at his brother to see his face – sharp features, intense eyes, funny bunch of worry between knitted brows.

“ ’M fine, Sam. Sleep.”

A sigh, a rustle of sheets and a creaky mattress spring signal Sam shifting on the bed, but the next audible crack of lightning and fast-following crescendo of thunder drown out any additional noise.

Dean jumps a little when large, warm hands land on his bare shoulders and squeeze comfortingly.

“How long have you been up?” Sam’s words brush gently across the fine hairs on Dean’s neck just before Sam’s lips make soft contact with the top knob on his spine.

“Dunno. Awhile.”

“Can’t sleep again, huh?”

“We can’t all be oblivious to the world, dude. Someone’s gotta keep watch.”

Sam’s silent chuckle shakes through Dean’s body as if it’s his own and he smiles in response.

“And that’s why _I_ sleep so well,” Sam murmurs against Dean’s skin and massages the muscles of Dean’s shoulders some more. “I appreciate it.”

“You better.” Dean lets go of the window frame and relaxes back against Sam’s solid form, feels his brother’s strong chest against his shoulder blades; his flat, hard stomach against the curve of his spine and leans his head into the crook of Sam’s neck. Confidence and surety and support radiate from Sam, together with the warmth of his skin and all of it sinks into Dean like the heat from a welcome driftwood fire.

“Really wish you could get a full night of shut-eye, though.” Sam’s voice is carefully neutral, too cautious, as his hands slide down Dean’s arms. “We’re on vacation after all.”

Dean sighs, hears the unspoken question between Sam’s words (‘ _What’s wrong?’),_ feels the worry in the slightly tensing muscles behind him as if his brother is readying himself to hold on if Dean should attempt an escape (‘ _Please don’t push me away.’)._ Dean doesn’t move but he doesn’t want to get into this either, whatever _this_ is. They both know full well that this is a temporary respite. That they can’t hide from the world forever. But Dean is determined to keep reality at bay, banished from this precious time together for as long as is possible, even if it kills him. He keeps his tone light and quips.

“We can sleep when we’re dead.”

Sam turns to stone behind him. (‘ _Fuck, wrong thing to say.’)_ Dean feels the shift and immediately goes into triage mode.

“ ‘Sides, sleeping’s seriously overrated when there’re much more interesting things to do in a big bed. Gotta take advantage of being alone.”

He presses his hips back firmly, trapping Sam’s mostly soft cock between them and gives it an enticing rub with his ass. To his immense relief, Sam relaxes with a sigh, sliding back to his previous sleep-loose state. He feels his brother press in closer against his back, nuzzling behind his ear and wrapping his stupidly long arms around his torso, pinning Dean’s arms to his sides. Dean feels like he’s being securely wrapped in a “Sam blanket”. An unbidden smile tugs at the corners of his mouth at the awesome sensation of being enveloped completely by his brother.

“Glad you got your priorities in order, big brother.” Sam’s hot breath spreads goosebumps down Dean’s neck.

“Damn straight. Wouldn’t have waited much longer to wake you. Take advantage of you, too.”

Before the mood can get any more heated, a tangible sense of danger fills the air for a split second as lighting strikes a large pine tree about forty yards from the house, splitting the trunk with a snapping crack like a breaking bone. The sound of exploding splinters and sap overpowers even the booming thunder.

The brothers tense and jolt a little in unison at the spine-tingling sound.

“ _Fuck._ ” Dean’s voice is filled with awe, “That was close.”

They watch as the tree slowly bends at an unnatural angle and finally surrenders to gravity and crashes to the ground. Sam quickly scans the perimeter but doesn’t see any other large trees close to the house.

“Quite the storm, huh?” Sam’s voice shakes a little at the end, causing Dean to turn his head and look up at his brother’s face.

“Scared, Sammy?” He mocks good-naturedly. “Need protecting?” he teases, but leans harder against Sam all the same, creating an impenetrable shield in front of him.

Sam scoffs and shoots him a look of disdain that doesn’t quite make it to his eyes which quickly return to scan the distance beyond the railing while his arms tighten around him. Dean’s eyes narrow slightly in suspicion.

“You wish. If you hadn’t gotten up, I wouldn’t have woken up from _this_.” Sam’s tone is confident enough, but something in the tightness around his eyes and mouth sets Dean’s alarm bells clanging.

The next volley of crackling lightning pulls Dean’s attention back outside as it zig-zags endlessly through the sky and illuminates the churning sea and roiling clouds in eerie strobes of bright blue and pink. Chunks of sea foam are ripped from the water’s edge and seem to be rolling down the beach like tufts of dirty cotton as the wind picks up sharply and whistles along the side of the house.

They stand there in silence, watching nature’s wrath unleashed on the land and sea and Sam pulls Dean against him even more snugly. Dean frees his arms and lets his hands rest on Sam’s forearms where they cross over his belly. He rubs them softly, enjoying the tickle of hair under his palms, wondering what’s going on in Sam’s giant brain and planning to put a stop the hard thinking at once.

The storm keeps raging outside in spectacular fashion, lightning an almost constant crawling and sizzling connection between sky and sea, pulsing in the clouds, creeping down and out like reaching fingers while the thunder shakes the windowpanes and trembles through the floorboards. A fierce ripping sound pulls their gazes to the beach fifty yards in front of them where they see a white-hot bolt of lightning strike the wet sand and send up a small explosion grainy powder.

“You think it’s started?” Sam’s voice has grown soft again and a little timid.

“Hmm?” Dean isn’t sure he heard right over the roaring of the storm.

“Chuck. You think this is it? He’s started cleaning house?”

Sam’s voice sounds almost exactly like it did when he was nine years old, asking Dean if monsters were real after he found Dad’s journal that fateful Christmas Eve. Back then, just like now, Dean can hear the determination and bravado in his brother’s tone, but knows that they’re both real and fragile at the same time, knows that Sam will accept whatever answer Dean gives as the truth even if it’s scary and breaks both of their hearts a little.

Dean’s body feels like he’s been ambushed with a hard shot of Novocain at Sam’s words. Muscles numb, dark buzzing under the skin, limbs heavy, gravity pulling him away from reality like a rip tide. His mind, however, starts to boil with sudden, blinding anger.

_‘So that’s what has Sam worried? Well, fucking Christ. Wouldn’t that be just like fucking Chuck to fuck up the one and only vacation we ever fucking get?!’_

He’s not going to accept that. They’ve been through too much. Done enough. They’ve earned these few days a hundred times over. If the world has to end in fucking brimstone and fire and a flood of fucking toads and they can’t find a way out of it after all, then it’s not gonna fucking be tonight. Can’t be.

He draws in a deep, calming breath, feels Sam’s heart thumping a little too fast at his back.

“No, Sam, I don’t.” He puts every ounce of his fury behind the words, masked as confidence. “This isn’t Chuck’s ending. We still got time.”

His hands clamp down on Sam’s arms, trying to reassure. He doesn’t have the courage to turn and look at his brother just then, worried that Sam will see too much.

Sam’s chin hooks over his shoulder and he feels him nod once, stubble scratching along Dean’s collarbone.

“Yeah, ‘m sure you’re right. Just a storm.” Sam sounds like he’s trying to make himself believe the words that fall flatly from his lips.

Ever since Chuck’s revelation in the cemetery, hope that they’re running their own game and will make it out of his latest looming disaster in one piece has been a tenuous thing, shifting like the tides between them, ebbing and swelling, often leaving one of them bolstered and the other one despairing. With their emotions on overdrive and too many aborted conversations without any real solutions, they’ve run themselves ragged. Only recently have they reached somewhat of an equal footing again, been holding on to a new surge of hope and Dean won’t give up on that now.

_‘There has to be a way to save their world. To defeat God. We’ll find a solution...probably’._

At the very least, they’ll get their lifelong promise to each other; going out together “Butch-and-Sundance-style” in a blaze of glory. Dean doesn’t have a single doubt about that. That part is entirely under their control.

He doesn’t _want_ to die, can’t give up, but even more importantly he doesn’t want to _stay_ if Sam should be ripped from him. And he won’t ask Sam to live if _he_ himself needs to check out first. Not anymore. If this crazy roller coaster of free will versus destiny versus fucked up writer’s plot has taught him anything it’s that he can’t make Sam’s decisions for him and he won’t make him promise something that will hurt him. It was wrong of him to ask that of Sam in the past. He trusts his brother completely and he knows Sam will make the right choice for himself. Dean’s about 99% sure what that choice will be and that it has absolutely nothing to do with Chuck’s plans.

But that can wait.

“Dammit, man, way to bring down the mood,” Dean’s chuckle is a little wet and shaky.

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam’s tone speaks volumes, covers their entire history from his crib to today, flays open the joys and fears between then and now, reveals the failures and triumphs, highlights the pain and the pleasure, everything that makes them _them_. Dean feels the well of deep emotion at his core rise up and threaten to drown him.

“Don’t, Sammy,” he croaks, tone harsh and brittle.

*****

Sam looks at his brother’s proud profile in the flickering, otherworldly light - his strong jaw, the perfect cut of his lips, this slight bump on the bridge of his nose with a spray of sun-darkened freckles across it, the lean cut of a cheekbone, the topography of their life in the crinkles at the corner of his eye, the full dark lashes, the smooth curve of brow – and feels himself swell with pride and gratitude that he gets to share so much of his life with this remarkable man in his arms.

As is their lifelong custom, much has remained unsaid over the years, even though little has being taken for granted, but….

“ _If_ it is….Chuck…”

“C’mon, Sam, let’s not….”

Sam can feel his brother retreating, shutting down, putting up the walls and suddenly there is nothing more important than finding a way to tell Dean how he feels, how he’s always felt. Dean is his _life_. Despite all the missed steps and rebellious, stubborn separations, he would be lost and not even half the person he is today without Dean. Sam loves his brother with all his soul and has fallen in love with him a little more each year they’ve been on the road together. He won’t go on without Dean, although he would never voice that simple fact for fear of pushing Dean away with the momentous responsibility of it. It’s enough that he knows that if Dean goes, he’ll follow. He’s 99% sure that Dean feels the same and would never admit it either. ‘ _Fuck Chuck’s plans for them!’_

Still, he _has_ to make Dean understand how much he means, has always meant, to him. He can’t rely on his lust-fueled outburst the other day when he fucked Dean hard over the railing to have actually gotten through to his brother. It has been some of the best sex Sam can remember having, but that doesn’t mean that it made Dean understand what’s in Sam’s heart.

He needs to be _understood…now_.

“But, Dean, I…..just wanna…” Velvet plea.

“Shut up, Sam, or I swear…” Cracking marble.

“No, Dean, _listen_ …” Tight urgency.

“I…can’t…” Rough desperation.

“But you…I…if we…” Leaden misery.

“I _know_ , Sammy.” Insistent determination.

Dean abruptly turns in Sam’s arms and grabs his face between his palms, eyes burning brilliantly with everything Sam ever wanted to see there.

“I already _know, Sammy._ I _heard_ you. I feel the _same_ , _”_ he whispers, so suddenly gentle and affectionate that Sam’s throat closes up tight and he can’t breathe for the love that wants to burst out of his chest.

Sam presses his lips together hard to keep any words from escaping that could embarrass them both and would add nothing to the moment between them. He nods instead, quick and sharp, and feels a couple of tears leave hot trails down his cheeks. Dean’s thumbs stroke them away tenderly.

“C’mere.” Dean hooks an elbow around Sam’s neck, drawing him in tight and pressing his lips to Sam’s forehead for a long moment before resting his cheek against it. “Now let’s go back to bed, you giant dork.”

Sam takes a huge cleansing breath and nods again before kissing the top of Dean’s shoulder. “OK. Yeah.”

*****

As they stand by the window bathed in the next pulses of lightning Dean can see the tension bleed out of Sam’s posture and face. He’s damn glad they “talked” about this, cleared the air. Glad he could make his feelings, so obvious to him, clear to the person he loves most in this world.

Something big and heavy unknots inside of Dean, bursts open in a warm shower of sparks and settles into his bones like glowing embers, bringing with it odd contrasting sensations of giddiness and calm that he couldn’t describe, but a deep instinct tells him that he _has to_ share it with Sam like Sam shared himself with Dean just a moment ago.

Sam’s always been the wordsmith but Dean’s the master of body language and he can make Sam understand what he can’t put into words, can worship Sam’s body in a way that reaches his soul, in a way he would never be able to express with language. He loves Sam with everything that makes him _him_ and he’s going to show Sam just how deep it goes.

He curls the fingers he still has laying against Sam’s cheek behind his jaw and pulls his brother’s face to his slowly, kissing him very softly, just a dry brush of lips. Sam responds to his rare tenderness with a surprised little gasp and kisses him back just as gently.

They move like a rehearsed slow dance, liquid synchronicity, turning to each other fully, stepping into each other, arms circling each other, and their mouths never separate, sealed together warm and firm and sure amidst the storm’s furious light show and cacophony.

They keep kissing languidly – soft pressure of lips, flash of tongue, gentle nip of teeth – as Dean runs his hands all over Sam’s broad back and hard-muscled torso with reverence. Eventually he strips Sam out of his soft pajama bottoms and quickly kicks off his own boxer briefs before they come back together with the most exquisite awareness of each other’s warm skin, flexing muscles and familiar scent.

It’s a heady thing they don’t often take the time to appreciate, but Dean plans to take full advantage of the opportunity this stormy night affords him and indulge in something he rarely dares to do.

Dean guides Sam backwards towards the bed and Sam goes willingly, wrapping his arms tightly around Dean’s waist and pulling him down with him as his calves hit the edge of the frame.

When they’re fully settled in the center of the bed, Dean places his hands on Sam’s shoulders, pushing him down to the mattress until he’s flat on his back. Straddling his brother’s narrow hips, he takes one of Sam’s large hands in his and lifts it to his lips. He grazes each knuckle carefully with his teeth before turning it over, kissing the palm and then sucking each fingertip into his mouth, caressing them with his tongue. He feels Sam’s shiver and moan along his inner thighs where they frame his brother’s sides and his semi-hard cock twitch where it rests nestled between the cheeks of Dean’s ass. Dean moves Sam’s hand over his head and presses it firmly to the mattress, command to hold still crystal clear.

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam draws out his brother’s name, his tone wavering between longing and protest.

“Sshhh, Sammy, let me,” Dean murmurs against Sam’s lips before sucking in the bottom one and enjoying the rough scrape of his brother’s stubble against his tongue as he licks along the underside.

He knows Sam wants to participate, but this is not a conversation right now, this is Dean’s monologue. Dean’s declaration of devotion and love the only way he knows how.

He takes Sam’s other hand and repeats his action, taking even more time. He kisses and bites each knuckle softly, noticing the rougher texture on some and the uneven shape of others, signs of rough use over so many years. He traces his tongue along the faded scar on Sam’s palm, still slightly raised and uneven, feels the involuntary flexing of Sam’s fingers at the contact and hears a stuttering intake of breath. He sucks on each finger with relish, noses at the webbing between and nibbles at the quickening pulse in Sam’s wrist.

At last he stretches Sam’s arm over this head and pushes his hand down next to the first before grabbing both of Sam’s wrists with one hand and leaning forward to kiss him passionately.

Sam opens to him without a second’s hesitation, welcoming him with a groan. Dean delves deep, stroking Sam’s tongue with his own, skating it along the edge of Sam’s teeth, the roof of his palate, and Sam opens wider, angles back, wants more and Dean complies happily. When they’re both dizzy with the rush of it, Dean pulls back, kisses out slowly, lips turning gentle again and drinks in Sam’s soft needy breaths.

“Stay,” Dean whispers into Sam’s ear, not a command, not a question, a fact. Sam nods silently.

Dean lets go of Sam’s wrists, slowly trailing his fingertips along the soft, sensitive skin of Sam’s inner arms, and sits up. His entire body tingles with heightened awareness of his brother beneath him and the fire that’s starting to spread through both of them as it does every time they let it. Dean gives a slow roll of his hips, dragging his ass along Sam’s lower belly and rapidly hardening cock and is met with an equally slow, firm counter pressure from Sam. They both moan at the sensation and Dean undulates against the hardening length a few more times with increasing pressure, driving Sam deeper along the groove and earning him a broken curse in return. Squeezing his legs tighter against Sam’s lean sides and laying his hands on Sam’s chest, Dean feels his brother’s fast breaths expand and contract his ribs, his heart drumming a strong beat against his palms.

Having his brother so alive and powerful and willing beneath him sends both a thrill of joy and hard burst of gratitude through Dean’s core and he gives himself over completely to the exhilarating whirl of sensations.

He can only see of Sam what nature allows with each flash, flicker and flare of lightning but Dean doesn’t need to see his brother to read him. He can see every familiar shape of Sam with his hands, molding and grasping and stroking; can gaze at his brother’s growing need with his lips, gliding and pulling and sucking; can take in the landscape of Sam’s strength with his tongue, mapping and laving and circling.

Dean loves the way Sam responds so differently to every deliberately placed touch, each indulgent kiss, adoring bite, and affectionate light scrape of fingernails, squirming, moaning, gasping and hissing under Dean’s ministrations.

Letting his actions do the talking, Dean’s mind supplies the words that won’t be spoken. ‘ _I love you.’ ‘You’re mine and I’m yours.’ ‘I got you.’ ‘Now and always.’_

In return, he drinks in all of Sam’s blissful sounds and needful movements that crave every bit of attention he’s giving him, letting them stoke his own fire into a roar that soon rivals the storm outside. Still, he ignores his own diamond-hard cock and aching balls, concentrating all of his desire on driving Sam wild.

Dean searches out the soft skin at the hollow of Sam’s throat, licks into it, tasting the salty liquid collecting there. He grazes his teeth up the strong column of his brother’s neck, letting the rough stubble abrade his own lips on the way and bites at the delicate skin under his chin, tugging lightly. He noses along the swirls of Sam’s ear, sucks on the lobe, rakes the edge with his teeth, breathing in Sam’s unique, heady scent. Dean mouths along the ridge of Sam’s collarbones gathering remnants of soap and sun and surf on his taste buds. He bites his way across his brother’s sculpted chest, pinches a nipple between tight lips before sucking it into a hard peak and reveling in the way Sam arches his back, begging silently for more. His tongue traces ever so slowly down Sam’s pecs, teeth grasping at quivering muscle and heated skin in turn, listening to Sam’s shuddering breaths. He finds the small puddle of salty-bitter slick on Sam’s belly, lapping it up as the smooth head of Sam’s cock bumps into the corner of his mouth with each small jump of his brother’s pelvis. He grasps Sam’s hips hard and presses them down to the bed as he flicks his tongue wickedly at the bundle of nerves under the head of his cock and he feels a series of shocky spasms run through Sam’s thighs as result.

“Dean, please,” Sam sounds wrecked above him, and Dean doesn’t make him wait or suffer, just seals his lips tight around the flared head and caresses it with swirls of his tongue.

“Ungh, yeah, fuck, yeah,” Sam chants and jerks upwards to push deeper.

Dean slams him back down with decisive strength, growling in warning, and thrills at the way Sam goes limp and compliant for a moment with a long needy whimper, sound racing in a pulsing line, like the lightning outside, directly to Dean’s groin. He groans, ignores his own urgent need, and focuses back on Sam’s.

Bobbing his head quick and shallow a few times, Dean fucks the top of Sam’s steely length past the tight ring of his lips before he softens the grip of his mouth and sucks him down as deep as his brother’s long, hot cock will go.

“Oh, _Christ_ , fuck, fuck, aahh,” Sam shouts over the crashing thunder as his upper body jolts of the bed.

Dean feels his lips stretch even wider as he grins in fierce joy around the tight fullness and he repeats his dance on Sam’s cock a few more times until his brother is a writhing, twitching mess under his restricting hands. He finally pulls off slowly, sucking with all he’s got on the way up, and watches how Sam throws his head back on his pillow, bites hard at his lower lip and clenches his fists tightly in the sheet above his head, muscles and tendons straining.

Having said _all_ he can without a single word, and succumbing to his throbbing craving to be even closer to Sam, Dean places a final soft kiss to his brother’s crown before he crawls back up the long line of Sam’s body. He blankets him completely, pushing his own rock-hard length into the groove of Sam’s hip and letting it ride along his brother’s flushed and slippery cock. A deep, rolling groan is ripped from both at the contact, competing with the thunder outside.

Sam’s hands fly down and clamp onto Dean’s ass with desperate force as he bucks up and rubs them together again tightly.

“Jesus, Fuck, Sam,” Dean gasps and shudders hard at the overwhelming sensation on his neglected, over-sensitive cock and sudden pressure on his balls. He can’t even muster a protest that Sam’s given up holding onto the sheets in favor of his ass. He’s too busy keeping his threatening orgasm at bay and enjoying the feel of his brother’s long fingers digging hard into his muscles.

“Please, Dean, please, need you.” Sam’s voice is rough and low and so needy it sends another shock of buzzing current straight to Dean’s balls, making his dick spurt a hot gush between them.

Their mouths meet forcefully in a smash of lips and there’s no telling who’s controlling the kiss as they lick and bite and tug, driving each other ever higher. Dean fucks Sam’s mouth with hard stabs of his tongue, Sam catches it, sucks on it as they swallow each other’s moans.

Dean ruts against Sam with sinuous thrusts of his hips and Sam’s hands aid the motion, pulling him even closer, arms bulging with the effort. Cocks sliding, catching, rubbing; sweat and precome easing the way as their movements become more and more frantic.

“Shit, Dean, feels so good,” Sam’s voice is high with arousal. “Keep going. Fuck, don’t stop.”

There’s no time for anything else, no need to take this further. They’re both too far gone. Dean’s hyper aware of every inch of Sam’s skin touching his, drunk on Sam’s scent, high on the feeling of them pressed together from toes to chest, sweat-sleek flesh and hard flexing muscles. He wraps his arms around Sam tightly, sliding one hand into this brother’s hair, the other locking on his waist, as they roll and push, pull and thrust, grab and stroke, wanting to melt into each other, become one.

Heat gathers, pulsates, expands, cock convulses, balls draw in painfully tight.

“ _Sammy_ …I, _fuck_ ……come with me,” Dean pants harshly against Sam’s mouth.

A full body tremor runs through Sam at the request and Dean feels him nod into the crook of his neck and wrap his long legs around Dean’s lower back.

Dean plunges forward, putting all his weight behind the last few powerful thrusts, pushing his cock hard against Sam’s, friction and heat almost too much. Sam’s heels dig rhythmically into the back of his thighs as he jerks his hips up to meet Dean’s.

“Fuck, Dean, so close, please,” Sam babbles against his throat as Dean drives against him again and again, grunting with each move.

Suddenly Sam’s teeth latch onto Dean’s shoulder and he goes stiff beneath him before he starts to tremble and lurch; a bloom of lava hot slickness expands between their bellies. Sam cries out, throws his head back, mouth open, eyes screwed shut and keeps shaking as if on a live wire. The sound and feel of Sam’s gorgeous body falling apart for him pulls Dean over the edge with a shout, cock and balls spasm hard as he pumps shot after shot after shot of forceful release into the mess between them. His body feels like it’s exploding into a prism of light, insubstantial and fragile, but glowing in all the colors of immense joy. He’s overwhelmed by the intimacy and closeness he feels with his brother, but he can’t stop moving, can’t stop wanting more, riding out every last wave of pleasure until it smoothes into the contentment of liquid satisfaction.

When at last their movements still, their mouths meet again, numb, senseless, sliding lips and loving tongues, breathing each other’s breaths.

It takes awhile for Dean to gather enough brain power to process thoughts again. He finds himself still lying half on top of Sam, smiling like a fool, his hand stroking through Sam’s sweat-damp hair without conscious thought.

“You ok?” Dean asks into Sam’s temple, wet strands tickling Dean’s nose.

The storm has subsided, there’s no more lightning to see by, but Dean can feel Sam chuckle silently.

“Yeah, I’m ok.” Sam’s lips graze Dean’s in a light brush. “More than ok.” He kisses Dean more fully. “We should _talk_ more often, if this is the result.”

Dean sees the implied smile in Sam’s words in spite of the room’s inky blackness, hears the unspoken ‘I love you, too’ between the lines and feels pretty damn proud of himself for getting his point across. For truly making Sam understand.

He kisses Sam back, slow and deep and unhurried. Dean let’s his thumb trace the familiar shape of his brother’s face when he pulls back from his lips.

“We can _talk_ all you want, Sammy. Tomorrow.”

He slides off Sam and pulls his brother forward so they face each other, knees bumping, foreheads close, and laces their fingers together between them, placing a last quick kiss on one of Sam’s knuckles.

“Night, bitch.”

“Night, jerk.”

*****

Sam wakes with the rising sun. His eyes fly to the window and he feels both a little embarrassed for having voiced his worries last night and stupidly relieved that the storm was obviously not Chuck’s doing, judging by the fact that there _is_ a new day dawning.

Next, his eyes are drawn to his brother at his side. Dean’s sleeping so deeply and looks so completely peaceful that happiness swells in Sam’s chest at the rare sight. He watches and listens to Dean’s calm, even breathing for a long moment, reflecting how much he misses this sound when they sleep in separate rooms in the bunker. Dean’s breath has been Sam’s lullaby for his entire childhood and his reassurance that they were ok during long nights on the road together, spanning most of their adult life. The necessity that they keep up appearances for everybody else’s sake when they’re in the bunker bugs Sam more than he will ever let on but he knows that trying to talk about it wouldn’t change a thing. As rebellious and defiant as the Winchesters are, as much as Dean especially is willing to say “screw the world”, neither of them wants to make their friends or family uncomfortable with the unique nature of their relationship, so they shut up about it and appreciate the time there together in other ways when being physically close is not an option.

Turns out, the pretense and abstinence at the bunker makes the times they do have sex even more fun and often extremely intense as proven by the last few days.

Sam sighs and smiles softly as previous night passes review in his mind. Even though Dean admittedly loves chick flicks, he’s not exactly the romantic type and rarely gets that emotional and raw. It’s not that Sam misses or craves that level of vulnerability from his brother on a regular basis, but he appreciates it deeply for the amazing contrast it presents to everything else they enjoy doing together. Sam knows that he can’t thank Dean in words for the way he felt loved and worshipped by him last night, but he will hold onto the memory of it for a long time.

A sudden idea strikes him and his small smile stretches into a bright grin. He slides from the bed as quickly and carefully as possible, using all of his hunter skills to leave the room without making a sound.

Hurriedly pulling on shorts and a tank top, Sam sneaks silently out of the house, his running shoes in one hand and a small Ziploc bag from the kitchen in the other, then more or less runs down to the beach.

*****

The air is crisp and clear this morning, making Sam shiver in his overly optimistic clothing choice, and he marvels at the way sky and sea rival each other in eye-popping, almost surreal shades of azure and cerulean. He doesn’t waste too much time gazing at his beautiful surroundings, though. He’s on a mission.

After he scans the beach in both directions and finds no one aside from a few sandpipers and gulls digging for clams, Sam relaxes and starts his own treasure hunt.

Several orientating glances back at the house and resulting course corrections later, he sees what he’s searching for – a small crater in the sand with a slightly darker rock-like protrusion at the center. Not quite believing his luck, he jogs over to it excitedly and kneels down before starting to dig with diligent care around the crusty-looking object, trying to excavate it.

*****

What wakes Dean is the smell of bacon permeating the air. He sniffs appreciatively before even opening his eyes and smiles, surprised that he hasn’t drooled on the pillow, it smells so delicious.

Yawning and stretching luxuriously, firmly ignoring the popping and cracking of his joints, he sits up against the headboard and rubs his eyes.

Judging by the light outside and the way the sun slants into the room, it’s still relatively early but Dean feels rested and content like he slept for days. Clearly, “talking” with Sam does have its advantages, he decides, grinning to himself

Dean’s still weighing his options: jump out of bed and offer to help Sam with breakfast or stay where his is and wait to be called once it’s ready, when the bedroom door swings open fully, presenting a third option that Dean didn’t expect in a million years.

His brother enters the room with a large tray holding two plates of what look like breakfast sandwiches, two large mugs of steaming coffee, and a thermos carafe. Dean’s heart squeezes in surprised gratitude and his stomach gives an audible rumble at the delicious aroma spreading through the room.

“Oh, good, you’re up. I thought I’d have to come kick you out of bed before noon, man.” Sam grins at his brother, white teeth showing even more prominently thanks to his tan face.

“Aaawww, Sammy, you’re bringing me breakfast in bed?” Dean croons mockingly but doesn’t even try to hold back the thankful smile lighting up his face. “That’s so _sweet_ of you.”

Sam barks an unperturbed laugh and counters in a confident tone. “Shut up, you love it.”

And Dean really kinda does but would never admit it.

“Just don’t get used to it, dude,” Sam goes on and shrugs, “ ’S just because….vacation, ya know.”

“I won’t tell anyone you’re a romantic sap, Sammy, no worries.”

“I’m not the chick flick lover between the two of us,” Sam scoffs, “so you’d better not throw stones in your glass house.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Dean grumbles but then smiles up at Sam. “Gimme. I’m starving.”

Sam settles the tray on the bed between them and sits down while Dean grabs a plate and then the sandwich on it with both hands.

“Looks great, Sammy, thanks,” he mumbles before shoving the two thick slices of Texas Toast with at least five strips of crispy bacon and a three-egg-omelet between them into his mouth for a huge bite. His hearty groan and exaggerated smacking noises would normally bring an admonishing comment from Sam, but today his brother only laughs and shakes his head before joining in.

They munch and slurp in relaxed companionship without speaking a word for awhile. The sandwich tastes fantastic, the coffee is nice and strong and Dean sighs happily as he makes both disappear in short order with Sam finishing not long after him.

“ ’S there more coffee?” Dean’s too busy licking his fingers clean to serve himself.

Sam scowls at him in mock outrage. “Do I have a name tag or a pen behind my ear?”

Dean grins at him sweetly. “No, but I bet you would look awesome in our of those little diner waitress dresses.”

“ _So_ not gonna happen, Dean,” Sam groans, but picks up the carafe and pours Dean another cup.

“Aw, Sammy, not even for me?” Dean’s expression tries for and fails to convey innocent disappointment. 

“Nope, you ass, not even for you,” Sam chuckles and then pulls something from the pocket of his shorts. “Not that you deserve it right now, but I got something for you.”

Dean’s playful teasing stutters to a stop and his eyes go wide in surprise as they catch Sam’s. His brother’s face is lit with open excitement, and his eyes shine; happy and almost as blue as the sky outside.

 _‘Sam got me a gift? That’s…’_ Dean’s heart thumps hard.

Directing his attention to the small Ziploc bag Sam’s dangling it in front of his eyes, his giddy anticipation turns to confusion.

“What’s that?” Dean squints skeptically at the sand-crusted lump inside. “A sea turtle turd?”

“No, dumbass, look again.” Sam laughs and places the bagged object carefully on his palm between them.

From Sam’s expectant expression and the way he practically vibrates with enthusiasm, Dean can tell that this is something special but to him it looks like someone made one of those wet sand dripping towers on the beach and petrified it. The thing is about four inches long and about as thick than his little finger. It has the irregular shape of a piece of coral, but there are a few knobs on the object that look like smooth caramel-colored glass and when Sam tilts the bag slightly, Dean can see that the thing is hollow.

He grimaces apologetically at Sam not seeing the big deal.

“Sorry, dude, you gotta help me out here.”

“It’s fulgurite,” Sam says proudly as if _that_ explains it.

Dean sighs and shrugs, shaking his head, still looking confused. “Fulgu-what?”

“Fulgurite, you know? Heat-fused sand? From last night? When we saw the lighting hit the beach?” Sam’s tone is still excited, but also a little impatient.

“ _Oh_ , yeah, that was awesome.” Dean finally remembers the word from a case they worked way back in the day. Something to do with a spell to summon Death, he thinks.

“It’s _really_ rare and pretty fragile, but I knew where to look after we saw it happen last night and I found it,” Sam explains in a breathless rush while he carefully takes it out of the plastic bag and places it in Dean’s palm. “There’s probably more, deeper in the ground, but it only gets thinner further down. This is all I could dig up without breaking it. This piece’s stable. You can handle it.”

He stops and looks at Dean with the overjoyed expression of kid bringing home his first “A” on a particularly tricky test and Dean would know, because that’s all Sam ever brought home as a child. Dean loves these glimpses of a younger, more carefree Sam that this vacation has afforded him and tries to burn them into his memory. Whatever waits for them next, he knows, he’s not gonna forget this.

“Isn’t it cool? I thought, maybe you’d like it as a….uhm….reminder of the vacation or….last night? So…I found it for you…” Sam’s voice trails off a little uncertainly, but his expression remains hopeful and eager as he holds Dean’s gaze.

Dean’s deeply touched by Sam’s excitement and the thoughtfulness it required to go out and bring back this physical manifestation of the storm that connects the present moment with what they shared last night. It _is cool,_ such profound meaning in something that looks so mundane, something no one else would see in this artifact. It’s just between them. When Dean smiles at Sam, it’s genuine and heart-felt.

“Thank you, Sam. I - I love it.”

He takes the fulgurite gingerly between two fingers and looks at it more closely. It’s actually quite beautiful once you know what you’re looking at and how it came to be. The outside still reminds Dean of a piece of fossilized coral with its slightly porous texture, but the inside of the hollow tube is smooth and shiny glass in the same golden-tan color as the small knobs on its sides. He nods approvingly and grins up at Sam.

“Good job at tracking it down, man. Couldn’t have been easy,” he praises.

Sam’s answering smile is so sunny it warms Dean all the way to his toes.

“I was more worried some local beach treasure hunter would get to it before me, but there’s just no one around at this time a year. I got lucky…..”

Before Sam can finish, Dean leans forward and presses his lips to his brother’s firmly in an expression of keen appreciation as his free hand slides into Sam’s hair and grasps the back of his neck. The kiss doesn’t last long, but it’s full of the type of gratitude and love Dean can never bring himself to put into words and he knows it’s not needed by the way Sam answers the kiss with sigh and another deeply dimpled smile.

Dean’s tempted to pull Sam down on the bed with him and see where that leads them, but the fulgurite in his hand and the breakfast tray between them prevents any easy surrender to the simmering heat that always seems to shimmer between them when they’re alone. He straightens up for a moment and carefully places the little glass treasure on the bedside table, never letting go of Sam’s neck, before he ducks forward again into another kiss, letting more of his want bleed into the contact.

“You gonna move that….or….?” Dean prompts after a long moment of breathless sliding and tangling of their lips and tongues during which Sam’s hands have come up to frame his face the way Dean loves so much.

Sam makes a noise of supreme regret but pushes back from Dean and smiles ruefully.

“Rain check?”

Dean’s eyebrows float up and the look of hurt on his face is not pretense.

“It’s just, I kinda have plans for us,” Sam hurries to explain and caresses Dean’s cheek with his thumb in apology, “and if we want a good spot we gotta get going soon.”

Dean scowls in suspicion.

“You better not have gotten us tickets to some cheesy theater thing…like Shakespeare in the Park or some shit,” Dean warns and looks truly horrified.

“Dean, have I _ever_ tortured you with something cultured like that?” Sam snorts. “No, I swear you’re gonna like what I have planned.”

“Soooo,” Dean draws out the word and makes a _go-on_ gesture with his hand, “what’re we doing?”

“If you get your ass outta bed and take a quick shower, you’ll see. Be ready in twenty minutes and I’ll do the dishes.”

“Better not be something lame or you’ll pay for it later!” Dean calls to Sam’s retreating back.

“You promise?” Sam laughs and is gone.

*****

The afternoon sun is lengthening the shadow of the house, making it creep into the dunes, when Dean walks back to the beach with two large tumblers in hand.

Another awesome day is almost over, and the end of their vacation is now closer than the beginning, but Dean pushes that thought out of his head immediately, unwilling to tarnish the fun they had.

Sam drove them north this morning, stopped at a local deli to pick up food and place it in the cooler without letting Dean see, and finally pulled into the Wright Brothers National Memorial Park.

Dean groused, of course, because he felt tricked into one of Sam’s nerdy history outings and then griped some more when he noticed the large banner for an annual kite flying gathering, but when he saw the variety and sheer size of colorful flyers the crowd of local kite enthusiasts unpacked, his curiosity was peaked. He decided that they could always leave if this turned out to be some stupid kiddie event but he helped Sam secure a good spot on the side of the large hill that housed the memorial monument and overlooked the Wright Brother’s flight line and visitor center. Soon after that, the skies were filled with such an array of stunt kites and show kites and power kites of every shape and size that Dean found himself hard-pressed not to stare with his mouth hanging open. He had no idea that stunt kites could zip around in tight patterns and loops like a bird of prey on the hunt or fly at the speed of a model airplane. He never predicted that flying the large box kites would take the high-level skill of two or three people to maneuver them so gracefully through the air. He never expected to see a huge octopus, shark, stingray, puffer fish and even a scuba diver share the brilliant blue sky with an equally enormous frog, panda bear, cow, dragon and the Millennium Falcon. It was spectacular and awesome and completely unexpected fun.

Sam’s preordered deli lunch also hit the spot. When he started to unpack the roast beef sandwiches on crusty bread with freshly made kettle chips, sneakily poured beer for them into travel mugs to disguise the restricted beverage, and then produced two large slices of freaking apple pie at the end, Dean got the feeling that Sam was spoiling him with what amounted to their first ever proper date.

Counting the breakfast in bed and the gift this morning, Dean wondered if there was some kind of anniversary Sam was trying to celebrate. However, Sam simply seemed happy with Dean’s grunted and groaned exclamations of pure pleasure over the meal and his apparent enjoyment of the day’s events, so Dean stopped trying to analyze it.

They sat on that hill for hours, watching the colorful show, occasionally pointing out especially outlandish kites or crazy maneuvers to each other and Dean couldn’t remember a day he felt so lazily content and quietly happy just to be alive.

After returning to the beach house, they picked up the Frisbee and worked off some of their amazing lunch in the calm ocean waters for another good hour but as the afternoon draws to a close, Dean thought it was high time to spoil Sam a little in return.

_‘Plus, there’s still that one thing on the vacation checklist that needs crossing off.’_

As he steps out of the dunes onto the beach, he can see Sam floating in the shallow water with his shoulders and head supported on a boogie board they borrowed from the house. Sam has his eyes closed and Dean stops in his tracks to enjoy the stunning view for a moment before his brother notices him.

Sam’s hair is almost dry, wind-tousled and definitely a couple of shades lighter from long days of sun and saltwater exposure. It suits him, Dean thinks with a smile. The way Sam’s chin rests on his fists to keep his head out of the water angles his arms so that his sun-bronzed skin is stretched taut over every defined muscle in his shoulders, arms and back. An intriguing flexing and releasing in the musculature accompany Sam’s minimal effort to keep balance on the board. The clear water is lapping and refracting light around his brother’s waist, highlighting the narrow hips and tight swell of his ass in his board shorts where he floats just under its glittering surface. Dean swallows hard and feels his groin tighten at the sight of all that relaxed but available power in Sam’s body. The sudden image of what all those muscles look like in action and a growing need to remind himself what they feel like bunching and giving beneath his hands, send Dean into motion again.

Dean hasn’t taken two steps before he can see Sam tense, his eyes snapping open, but he lets go of his state of heightened alert just as quickly.

“Hey,” Sam calls and smiles widely but doesn’t move to leave his position on the board.

“Hey yourself,” Dean answers and grins. “You sure look like delicious shark bait from here.”

Sam’s head cocks and a mischievous grin spreads over his features. “You think I’m delicious?”

Dean scoffs and moves towards the large beach blanket they spread and staked on the sand at the foot of a larger dune earlier.

“I think you’re missing the _shark bait_ portion of my statement.”

“There haven’t been any reports of shark attacks this time of year around here in years. I checked,” Sam says seriously.

“Of course, you have,” Dean laughs and kneels down carefully on the blanket still holding the two drinks in his hands.

“So, that leaves…. _delicious.”_ Sam smirks and looks at Dean in a way that suddenly make him feel like bait himself. Dean’s very happy that Sam’s so uncharacteristically playful and relaxed, but he has other plans and quickly curbs Sam’s trajectory.

Dean juts his chin out, looks at Sam down his nose with a wicked smile, and then jerks his head in a ‘come here’ gesture. “That theory needs testing. I’ll tell you after.”

Heat flashes in Sam’s eyes and in one smooth motion that would put any Olympic swimmer to shame, he pulls his feet under him and rises out of the water to his full height _‘like fucking Poseidon’_ Dean can’t help but narrate. His throat goes dry and his skin prickles, electrified, as he watches his gorgeous brother saunter towards him, eyes sparkling with reflected light off the ocean, water-slick skin shining reddish tan in the waning afternoon sun, muscles playing and jumping just under its smoothness.

Sam can easily dismantle almost any opponent with his impressive strength. Dean’s counted on that fact to keep them alive more often than he likes to think about. He also knows that he can only best Sam in a fight when he takes full advantage of his own additional years of experience and willingness to play dirty. All that makes the times that Sam comes to him willing, open and pliant so much more thrilling and that much hotter. Dean suppresses a shiver of anticipation at the thought of what he’s planned next.

When Sam reaches the blanket, he sinks to his knees on the edge and leans forward on his hands to offer his lips to Dean, but he doesn’t move in to take what he wants. Dean hums in approval and his excitement builds when it seems they’re on the same page.

Dean ducks in the rest of the way and pushes his tongue into Sam’s mouth without preamble for a thorough and demanding kiss. Sam opens to him easily and eagerly accepts what he’s given.

“That’s a good start.” Dean nips at Sam’s bottom lip and then smiles smugly as he pulls back a little. He raises one of the tumblers and feeds the straw to Sam. “Now, drink.”

Sam obediently takes a long pull before letting go.

“Hmmm, good. What is it?”

“Another theory that needs testing.” Dean says with a suggestive smirk.

“Huh?” Sam looks confused.

“ _Sex on the Beach,_ little brother.” Dean purrs the words, letting his voice dip into a deep rumble.

“ _You_ made us a mixed drink involving more than two ingredients that has fruit juice in it?” Sam asks with a chuckle but stops when he sees Dean’s smile vanish. “What?”

“You’re missing the point again, man,” Dean grumbles and glowers, feeling abruptly foolish.

Sam’s brows draw together as he stares at Dean intently and Dean tries hard not to squirm. Sam licks his lips, chasing the taste of the tropical drink, and suddenly his eyes go wide in understanding and he slowly sits back on his heels.

“Noooo waaaay, Dean.”

Dean feels his scowl deepen at his brother’s retreat.

“Why not?” he challenges.

“You wanna….I mean…we _can’t_ ….out _here_?” Sam sputters and looks over his shoulder as if to check for an audience.

“Really, Sam, _now_ you’re turning into a prude?” Dean exclaims and raises both drinks in exasperation, “After you almost broke the railing fucking me on the balcony?”

Sam gawks at him and his cheeks darken even though it’s hard to tell under the deep tan he’s picked up.

“Uhm, well, that was….at the….house.” Sam’s voice becomes weaker with each word and Dean can see that Sam’s slowly coming around.

A triumphant grin spreads over Dean’s features and he holds out the drink to Sam cajolingly, his voice a smooth appeal. “Cm’on, Sammy, where’s your sense of adventure? It’s s _ex on the beach_.”

Sam sits down on the blanket with a groan and scoots up, sitting at an angle to Dean before taking the offered large acrylic tumbler full of sunset colored liquid.

“You got that idea from porn, didn’t you?”

“ _No_ ,” Dean protests with vehement annoyance.

Sam looks at him with narrowed eyes and Dean can feel the heat rising in his cheeks under his brother’s sharp scrutiny, hoping that the sun at his back, causing a shadow across face, will hide his embarrassment. Sam groans again.

“From one of your chick flicks?”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean growls, feeling let down. He takes a deep slug of his drink.

The sweet-tangy taste of the cold cocktail bursts refreshingly on his tongue. Using the Gold Rum instead of vodka and adding fresh lime juice isn’t exactly in keeping with the recipe, but Dean doesn’t care and is actually surprised he likes the girly drink at all. He always associated anything frou-frou and too complicated with Sam’s tastes and made this cocktail specifically for him, but it seems that he’s softening his resolve in his old age.

Seems he’s also _turning into_ a girl when it came to making his plan to fuck Sam on the beach. Awesome images of Sam’s sweat-slick, writhing body on the end of his cock while sun and sand and ocean surround them still vivid on his brain. Annoyed with himself for being so transparent and annoyed with Sam for calling him out and not just going along with this awesome suggestion, he takes another long sip and stares out at the ocean, frustration building.

*****

Sam studies his brother’s faraway, slightly grumpy expression and feels acutely bad for having teased him. A lot of their most ridiculously adventurous sex had been inspired by Dean’s preferences in movies and Sam never had any reason to complain afterwards. They’ve had such a laid-back, incredibly companionable and enjoyable day, he doesn’t want it to end with an argument over the fact that sex on the beach seems like a horribly impractical idea to him. If Dean’s secretly soft heart hangs on having sex right here as the sun sends its last corona of golden rays beaming into the sky above them, so be it. He can roll with it. ( _‘Pun intended’)._

It’s not that sex with Dean is _ever_ a hardship. Sam often marvels at the fact that they are still _this_ crazy for each other. Any chance they get, which is rare enough amidst the general chaos of their lives and the near-constant demands from people who need saving, they practically rip the clothes off each other and go at it, hard. To him, sex with Dean has only gotten _better_ over the years. Fueled by their bone-deep familiarity with each other’s bodies and their ability to read each other’s smallest sign, no need or desire stays hidden for long and all are explored with the same sense of awe and enthusiasm they had at the beginning of their physical relationship. Sure, age has made them both a little less flexible and a little slower to recover, but never any less willing or grateful.

In Sam’s eyes, Dean looks his best, his most sexy and irresistible, right the fuck _now_ \- it’s been like this for all the years they allowed themselves to be together in this way.

He watches Dean, who’s still looking out towards the water, as he takes another long pull through the straw and licks his lips absentmindedly. Sam finds himself mirroring the gesture, wanting it to be Dean’s lips his tongue caresses.

A soft breeze plays around them, making the sea oats in the dune behind them rustle dryly against each other and lifting Dean’s un-styled hair, ruffling it, so Sam notices that the tips are almost blond now. His hand twitches at his side, wanting to comb through Dean’s unusually unruly hair, feeling the softness of the product-free strands.

Sam’s eyes follow the strong column of Dean’s neck to his lean-muscled chest, taking in its current hue. Dean’s skin doesn’t tan like Sam’s. Dean pretty much goes from ghostly pale to lobster red in a day, no matter the amount of sun protection Sam tries to slather on him, before his color fades to a healthy light golden brown that seems to heighten the shade of his eyes to a bright sea glass green. Together with the way the sun darkens and highlights the spray of freckles across his brother’s cheeks and nose, on the edge or his ears and the tops of his shoulders, Sam is utterly taken by his brother’s stunning looks.

_‘Fuck, why not. If he wants sex on the beach, he’s gonna get it.’_

Sam leans across the space between them and places his lips softly on a particularly dense cluster of freckles on Dean’s shoulder before letting his nose trace along a sprinkling of them to his collarbone.

“ ’M sorry,Dean,” he mumbles into his brother’s fragrant skin.

Dean gathers his gaze from the sea and rests his eyes on Sam’s, looking up through his eyelashes.

“For what?” Dean’s voice is low and cautious.

“For cramping your style.” Sam smiles ruefully and is glad to see a spark strike through the green in his brother’s eyes like the reflection off a lighthouse lens, quick and intense.

“Are you now?” Dean’s tone edges back towards its earlier playfulness. “How sorry?”

“Sorry enough to test your theory.”

That brings back Dean’s grin at full wattage and makes Sam’s heart skip with relief that he avoided souring the mood.

Dean holds his drink up and nods with a wide grin.

“I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

Sam chuckles and sits up fully, clonking his plastic glass against Dean’s. “You’re hard to argue with, that’s true.” He takes another long sip of his cocktail and sighs at the pleasant taste of it. “You’re a helluva bartender. I give you that.”

Dean just smiles, gets up on his knees and moves in to face Sam. He leans closer. “Lemme see.”

And just like that the heat is back. Dean’s eyes fasten on Sam’s mouth as he sweeps his thumb slowly across his bottom lip catching a stray drop and then sucking it off his finger. Sam’s eyes follow every move with predatory focus and a small shiver ripples down his spine.

“Yeah, not too bad, for a girly drink, I guess.” Dean’s teeth flash white in a quick grin. “But I got to make sure.”

Sam sucks in another large gulp from Dean’s offered cup before Dean leans in and presses his lips to Sam’s, sweeping his tongue over and between them chasing after the taste of the cocktail. The contrast of the exotic flavor of the drink mixing with the deeply familiar taste of Dean exhilarates Sam and he moans softly in appreciation while he lets Dean lick and kiss it from his mouth. 

Sam quickly returns the favor, teasing Dean’s full lips with his own straw and then feeding it to him, watching raptly as it’s sucked into his brother’s mouth. He blindly sets the drink aside and slides his hands into Dean’s hair to pull him close and descend on his mouth with a hungry moan.

They trade heated kisses and sips of the cocktail until it’s gone, hands pulling and grasping at each other’s hair and shoulders and waists, sliding over backs and asses as they kneel across from each other. A give and take, winding each other up as the alcohol settles into their stomachs and mellows Sam’s inhibitions about the locale.

“Hhmm, I knew I could convince you.” Dean smiles against Sam’s mouth and tugs gently at his lower lip teasing the underside with his tongue.

“Whaddaya have in mind,” Sam whispers back, head spinning a little from the lingering heat of the day and the fast consumption of the alcohol and Dean – _always from Dean_.

His brother’s clear green eyes meet his and hold fast as his voice becomes thick and hot as lava, sending a chill through Sam that pebbles his skin.

“I want you on your hands and knees looking at the ocean. I wanna to fuck you from behind, so deep and slow that you beg me to finish. I wanna make you scream, feel you so tight around my cock when you come. Then I wanna fuck you some more as the sun sets.”

Sam’s brain feels like it’s losing touch with reality for a second. Images flood into him in a hot jumble. Glimpses of all Dean just promised. His cock swells and hardens in a rush, making it even harder to think.

“Jesus, Fuck, Dean,” he rasps as his body shouts _‘yes, please’_.

“You asked.” Dean grins fiercely and frames Sam’s face with his hands. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

Sam doesn’t have to be told twice and he lies back on the blanket, grabbing Dean’s waist and pulling him half on top of himself. When he invitingly lifts his head to Dean, he loves the way his brother responds immediately, takes charge and claims his mouth. There is very little Sam loves more than Dean in command, on the battlefield or in bed. He may grumble and push and fight for equality and he loves that they are on even footing most of the time now, but having Dean in charge, manhandling him, telling him clearly what he wants and expects.

It’s fucking _hot_.

Sam opens wider, lets Dean in deeper, moans around his tongue and clutches at his brother’s back. Dean feels hot against Sam’s still slightly-damp and ocean-cooled skin. Dean smells faintly of sunscreen and salt but taste like pineapple and rum – everything Sam ever imagined a vacation should be – as they make out like teenagers on the beach, so into the feel of each other that they could care less if anyone sees them.

When Dean slides his hand into Sam’s hair and pulls insistently, a current of sparks travels directly into Sam’s balls and stokes the low-banked heat there into a bright blaze. Dean’s nose nudges under Sam’s chin and Sam bares his throat, gasping as Dean starts to draw a fiery line with his tongue along Sam’s jugular and closes his teeth over Sam’s pulse with a groan.

Finally, Dean shifts fully on top of him, blanketing and pinning him to the ground and pushing one of his legs between Sam’s. He bucks up automatically pushing his own half-hard cock into Dean’s hot, hard ridge through their shorts. Dean moans against the skin of his neck.

 _‘It really is fucking hot. But…’_ Sam’s brain reengages and cautions.

The late afternoon sun falls squarely on their blanket, turning their little cove at the foot of two dunes into an oven, the heat only slightly mitigated by the breeze coming in off the water in irregular intervals. Sam really wants this to work, for Dean’s sake, for his own pleasure, for the sheer novelty and fun of it, but he’s starting to get pretty sticky already and it’s hard to breathe with Dean covering him so completely.

Sam chances a glance at the sky and the dunes behind them, trying to gauge how much time they have before the shadows catch up to them, and is dismayed to see that it’ll be at least thirty minutes before they’re in the shade.

Sam always thought it ironic how Dean loves the heat and soaks it up like a meerkat in the desert, but takes a long time to tan properly and never without burning, while Sam really doesn’t enjoy prolonged exposure to heat at all, because he starts to sweat almost instantly, but he tans so easily that he looks like a desert dweller himself right now.

Just then, a steady current of cooler air blows over them from the sea and Sam forces himself to relax and push all thoughts of becoming overheated out of his mind, concentrating instead on the incredible feel of Dean’s hard, muscled, lean body against his own. He can feel Dean’s eagerness and obvious joy at fulfilling a fantasy.

He lets his hands sweep from Dean’s shoulders, down his back, with firm pressure, marveling at the give and flex of the strong muscles and underlying structure of bones on the way. Dean groans at the contact and pushes up into Sam’s touch, seeking more contact. As Dean curls up, his mouth makes its way lower to Sam’s collarbone and then to his pec, tickling and scraping roughly where the stubble catches at Sam’s skin. Or he thinks it’s the stubble until he hears Dean make a funny sound before he leans to the side and spits.

“Dean?”

“ ’S nothing, Sammy,” Dean is quick to reassure him and before Sam can say anything else, he feels Dean’s lips seal over his own, kissing him deeply. There’s a startling difference. Strong salt and brine flavors instead of the cocktail taste of vacation. Kissing Dean now is more like swallowing a gulp of seawater and there’s a grainy crunch between Sam’s teeth as he pulls back with a sound of protest.

“Ugh, sorry, Dean, that’s disgusting.”

“Sorry, Sammy. Don’t worry about it. I’m just gonna stay above the water line.” Dean sounds breathless and a little desperate like he’s trying to convince himself just as much as Sam.

“Water line?” Sam asks in confusion but then realizes that Dean just kissed and licked parts of him that had been submerged in the water whereas earlier he’d concentrated on his face and neck which never went below the surface. “Dean, I can just go rinse off at the house.”

Dean growls and thrusts his hips down deliberately pressing their erections together in a slow drag, which shuts Sam up as effectively as a direct command. He gasps and lets his head fall back onto the blanket with a groan, tilting his hips up to meet Dean’s.

“Not letting you get away that easy,” Dean breathes a hot promise into Sam’s ear. “Not ‘til I give you what I promised.”

With Dean’s sharp teeth, clever tongue and sinful lips working his ear, throat and neck, Sam forgets his protest in no time flat and lets his need for Dean overrule his thoughts. Soon his body swims in the sensations of Dean’s hands and mouth on him and his mind coasts on the enthralling sounds of the breaking waves, the rustling sea oats, and the gulls crying in the air above them, creating the most soothing ambient background noise.

He spans Dean’s waist with his hands and his fingers play along the edge of his swim shorts before he smoothes his palms down Dean’s back and slides them under to grab his bare ass.

“TSssss, crap, ouch,” Dean hisses and squirms on top of Sam, causing them to rub together harshly, making Sam groan and grab onto Dean even tighter.

“Fuck, Dean.”

“Hhmpf,” Dean’s body jerks, but it doesn’t seem to be from pleasure. “S-Sam, can you wipe your hands off?”

Only then does Sam realize that he just dragged a good amount of sand from the dip of Dean’s spine and rubbed it generously into the soft skin of his ass.

“Sorry,” Sam withdraws his hands quickly and tries to wipe them clean on the blanket only to encounter more sand.

“Never mind. Hold on.” Dean sounds winded as he slides off Sam sideways and sits up. Sam sucks in a deep breath as a cool breeze caresses his slick skin and he bites down hard on his lip to hold back a moan at how good it feels. Dean grabs a towel from the chair next to the blanket and hands it to Sam, who quickly brushes off as much sand and he can and hands it back to Dean, who does the same.

“Dean,” Sam hedges lifting up on his elbows and contemplating how best to bring up that he really thinks they’d have more fun if they’d move this to the house.

“Giving up?” Dean’s voice is a strange mix of disappointment and mocking with an edge of…. _what?_ Sam can’t exactly tell.

“No,” he answers carefully, “just don’t wanna leave you with sand burn.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me. C’mere.”

Dean grabs Sam’s neck and drags him higher up off the ground into an intense kiss. Again, Dean manages to push aside Sam’s concerns with the sheer wickedness of his tongue as he strokes and swirls and tangles with his. He wraps his arms tightly around Dean holding onto his shoulder blades and lets go of his doubts.

Sam feels his focus shift back to everything Dean. Nothing else matters. Nothing else exists. Just Dean’s attention on him. Dean’s hands guiding him back down, sweeping over shoulders and arms and pecs, his fingers circling a nipple, pinching, tugging, before tracing his abs, playing with the fine hair below his belly button.

Sam’s own hands grasp at Dean’s back. He runs his blunt nails up and down his brother’s spine, feels him shudder and hears him moan. Sam’s body quivers in response, gooseflesh racing across his arms and neck just as sweat runs in a line from the hollow at his throat down between his pecs.

Sam feels his cock twitch, his balls prickle, heat blooms and rapidly expands from his belly into his limbs as Dean’s teeth run along his jaw, biting at his lower lip, closing on the shell of his ear. His spine arches when Dean’s hand cups him, rubs him slow and firm through his shorts, plays with his tight balls, presses his thumb to the head of his cock– delicious friction through the fabric, nerves sizzling, flesh jumping. He hears himself whimper and groan. Feels Dean’s encouragement gasped against his ear. Turns his head blindly towards the familiar voice, mouth searching for the truth from those lips. Another merciful gust of wind from the ocean blows across them both before Sam feels like he’s melting completely, even as the blowing sand stings his skin like tiny needles. He ignores it, pulls at Dean, mind muddled with want.

“Please, Dean.” He needs more.

“Yeah, got you, Sammy,” Dean answers immediately and finally, _finally_ slides his hand past the loose waistband of Sam’s shorts before wrapping tight and sure around his heated length.

Both still and groan in unison at the immense relief and amazing sensation. Dean’s hand almost feels cool against Sam’s flushed and rock-hard cock. After a long second, Dean tightens his grip a fraction more and pulls long and firm exactly the way Sam likes it.

“Fuck!” Sam shouts and jolts upright because Dean’s hand feels like it’s coated in sandpaper, grinding a thousand tiny kernels of grit into his most sensitive skin as he jerks him.

“Yeah, Sammy.” Dean growls and is about to reverse direction before Sam’s hand clamps down on his forearm like a bear trap and he yelps in agony at the unbearable abrasion.

“ _Stop_ , fuck, Dean, please, fucking _stop_.” Sam’s voice is high and frantic, and his cheeks feel like they’re on fire. Sweat pours down his back.

Dean relinquishes his hold on Sam immediately and pulls his hand out of his shorts holding it up in the air in surrender.

“What?” Dean’s eyes are wide and wild, pure instinct reaction at Sam’s obvious exclamation of pain. “What happened?”

Sam clamps his other hand over his own cock protectively and grits out between clenches teeth.

“ _Sand_ , dude, fucking sand, all over my dick, _fuuuuck_.”

Dean truly looks horrified. “S-sorry, Sam. Man, I….that….I’m so sorry.”

“Uungh,” Sam rolls over to his side, which only coats his arm and leg in more sand and he tries to catch his breath after the shock of the completely unexpected, painful sensation.

It’s about as fun as being kicked in the nuts, he decides, just more localized. Where a blow to the balls spreads like a gnawing menace all through your lower abdomen and short circuits your brain, this feels like someone raked a sharp-toothed, white-hot comb up the full length of his rapidly softening cock. Thin lines of blinding fire.

Sam pants a few times, pushing out hard breaths and trying to wrangle in the pain, and he feels Dean’s tentative touch, a softly placed hand on his side, but he doesn’t have anything to give at the moment.

Dean’s voice is uncertain when it breaks through his haze.

“Sammy, you wanna get in the water? Maybe it’s better with the water?”

Sam opens his eyes and sees Dean adjust himself surreptitiously, still mostly hard in his shorts.

He sits up with some effort and stares at Dean incredulously before snapping, “It feels like you scraped the skin off my dick – I don’t think salt water is the answer, Dean!”

The pain is slowly receding, but he’s definitely _NOT_ in the mood anymore. Even his gorgeous brother, sitting, stunned, beside him, cock still tenting his shorts, isn’t going to do it for him now.

_‘Stupid idea. Fucking on the beach. Knew it was idiotic. Dean and his stupid porn fantasies. Fuck. Shoulda said no from the start.’_

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean tries again, voice softer and cajoling, “I can go get some water bottles from the house for you. We’ll clean ya up and…..“

Sam takes a deep breath, gingerly gets to his feet, and barks, “No, Dean, I think I’ve had enough, _thanks.”_

He stomps off towards the house, catching a last glimpse of Dean looking dumb-struck and hurt and his heart would twinge with guilt if his cock wasn’t throbbing in pain.

*****

 **SAM**  
  
_'Fuck Dean.'  
_  
I'm fleeing to the house - not that I want to get away from Dean, but I can't deal with the fucking sand anymore. He got me so worked up and now...now I just want to slam a door.  
  
_'Why do I always go along?'_  
  
My mind plays a loop about how I can't believe I went and fucked up the day and it would've been better not to try at all. Dean would still be happy if we hadn't tried that. My dick wouldn't feel like it's on fire. How could something that was feeling so good have gone so wrong so quickly?  
  
It feels weird and too far – this walk from the surf where I left Dean staring after me up to the house. The sun is still too hot and the wind is so fucking annoying – blowing my hair into my mouth and my eyes and the salty sweat sticking to the tips burns.  
  
_'Fuck...why did that have to happen? I really did want to give Dean what he wanted.'_  
  
It doesn't help my mood any either when I open the door to the house and am met with a near arctic chill. Who’d have thought that an AC unit that looks like something left over from the 80's, that bangs and rattles like it's on its last leg, could actually transform this place into a penguin habitat? I shiver and my first thought is to jump in the shower – both to get the fucking sand off and to avoid hypothermia. It wouldn't hurt to take a little time to get my thoughts in order either.  
  
I trudge up to the bathroom and slam the door even though there’s no one else here to hear it. It's still satisfying to slam it. Good thing I didn't break the frame, but what happened out there on the beach really couldn't have been more frustrating.  
  
I think that I’d better keep the water a little cool or it's gonna burn like a motherfucker. Fuck, it even hurts to slide these fucking shorts off.

 _'Okay, breathe. You're fine. It just sucks. It's not life and death. Just get the fucking sand off.'  
_  
I step into the shower and that's just about right; not too hot. I ease in gingerly and I feel how sensitive my cock is from the unintended scrubbing, so I'm careful, but at least all of the grit is washing away. I think it's safe to turn around and increase the water temperature a bit. The heat feels good on my shoulders which are all tense again after our mishap. I hadn't realized how much stress was missing until suddenly it's back. It sucks.  
  
_'I really shouldn't have stomped off like that. It's not his fault. It just fucking hurt. I hate seeing him like that; the way he looked at me when I left.'  
_  
My hair’s a mass of knots, thanks to the wind, and I'm really not looking forward to working all of those out. Instead of tackling that problem, I just stand under the spray, trying to let it work on the tense muscles in my shoulders, thinking back on how it cool it was to watch the kites flying today. I think about the look Dean had on his face. He really seemed to like it. I knew he would. I really wanted to give him a good day and I think it worked...until now. 

He always makes everything his responsibility. His fault. He needs more days like this when he doesn't have to be in charge of anything. Watching the kites, he looked about ten years younger. He looked…happy.   
  
I didn't want to ruin Dean's stupid porn fantasy. It was feeling really good until...that. I remember the way he looked at me when I got out of the water; like he wanted to eat me alive. Hard to forget how he's so good at using his mouth too. There's just something about the way he takes over – I don't even want to fight it. I don't give a shit about control, I just want him. It's never been as good as it is with Dean with anyone else.

 _'He even made a mixed drink,'_ I have to smile to myself. _'Dean. Made a mixed drink. For me.'_  
  
I tip my head back and let the water rinse the salty sweat from my hair. _'Jesus Christ, why was I such a jerk?'  
_  
I’m still thinking about how good it felt. He was so insistent, pushing against me, really into it and so fucking turned on. Those lips all over my body. He knows exactly where to bite and how hard. Dammit, if we hadn't been trying it out there in the fucking sand he would've had me screaming by now. Fucking me from behind...stretching me with that burning heat...there's nothing like it. I still want it. Fuck, I always want it. I feel like I got cheated. More like I cheated myself.  
  
_'Okay...so that's how it is now?'_

I feel myself starting to get hard again and _really?!_ , I can't even have a memory without starting to get hard again?

_'I guess there wasn't any permanent damage after all.'_

Now I can’t stop thinking about Dean touching me. 

_'Great. I'm alone in here and NOW is when I pop a boner? Just…great.'_

I know the stupid knots in my hair won't work themselves out, so I grab the shampoo bottle. I think I hear something over the rush of water in my ears...sounds like a sliding door.  
  
"I'm really sorry, Sammy," and there's a hand on my shoulder. So tentative the way Dean's touching me. The opposite of how he was out on the beach.

 **DEAN**  
  
I'm not sure how this's gonna go. Sam might clock me one, so I stay alert and only touch his shoulder, ready to take it on the chin if that'll make him feel better.  
  
Of course, Sam's got every right to be pissed. Watching him walk away from me on the beach with clear anger in every line of his body was rough, like a punch to the gut, but it served me right for forcing my stupid fantasy on him. Can't believe I fucking hurt him.  
  
I was torn between charging after him to apologize and staying out on the beach for awhile to give him some space to cool off. I decided to give him space, even though he deserved an apology and I know that letting things go without talking it out isn’t Sam’s style. Maybe I needed a moment to cool off too. Not like my dick was going to give up on the idea right away – can’t really shut that down. Not after the way Sam looked, the way he felt. I absolutely hated that I injured him, but everything leading up to that had been so fucking hot and exactly how I'd imagined it and Sam seemed so into it too.

  
I didn't want him to think that I was pushing myself on him when he said "no". With all the fun and slightly crazy stuff that we do together, that's the golden rule. 'No' means 'No'. Definitely when it comes to sex. I respect that. It's the only way we can try half the insane shit we want to try.  
  
So, I stayed, stared out at the stupidly blue water that reminded me of Sam's eyes, and listened to the stupid seagull calls that reminded me a little of his funny laugh and watched eddies of sand swirl on our blanket that only reminded me how much Sam hated it. Sitting there in the dunes just gave me a good opportunity to beat myself up some more for being so damned stupid. I should be able to control my impulses better. But then, when it comes to sex with Sam, I'm pretty sure I will never learn and really don't want to either. It's just too fucking amazing to have that with him, to have him still so willing and eager for it most days.  
  
_'I just need to be less of a dumbass,'_ I berate myself.  
  
Finally, I came to the conclusion that hiding out there wasn't helping anything and I was still way too horny to just let the day end like this. It had been such a good day. Sam _gave_ me such a good day. Until I had to go and fuck it up. A sudden gust of wind blew in from the ocean and covered me in a fine coating of sand from head to toe, like it was mocking me. Fucking sand. I got Sam’s point. It was fucking uncomfortable and ruining the fun, but I’d made up my mind that I wasn’t going to let it.

I gathered our stuff in the blanket, pulled up the stakes, and threw it over my shoulder before making my way back to the house. I had to rescue this day. I fucked it up. I had to fix it.  
  
Standing in the bathroom now, I watch Sam's back carefully for any sign of tension or movement that could indicate he might want to take a swing at me. All I see, however, is Sam letting out a huge breath and slumping forward a little where he has his hands braced on the wall, letting the water run over his head. I slide the door open and reach out – I don't want to scare the shit out of him. I put my hand on his shoulder and give it a small squeeze.  
  
"I'm really sorry, Sammy."  
  
Sam doesn't answer, so I keep going.  
  
"I'm a total asshole for coming up with stupid shit like that and not thinking it through, man."  
  
Sam reaches up and puts a hand over mine on his shoulder. He relaxes a little more and I think I'm on the right path here.  
  
"I hate that I hurt you." My voice is thick with real regret, but I start to feel lighter as I realize that it seems like Sam’s not truly angry with me.

I also try really hard not to get distracted by the way Sam's shoulders, back and ass look under the smooth flow of water clinging to him like he's encased in glass. My dick has other ideas. Stupid thing. I quickly adjust my shorts to hide my semi hard-on.  
  
To my enormous relief, Sam turns around then and looks at me straight on. His eyes are too cautious and his expression too neutral for my taste, but at least he hasn't taken a swing at me, so I count that as a win.  
  
"I'm sorry, too, Dean," he says quietly. "I shouldn't've stormed off like that. I know you didn't mean to hurt me."  
  
"Why are you sorry? You didn't do anything. 'S all on me. And I totally get if you don't wanna see me right now." I feel a tentative smile tug on one corner of my mouth.  
  
I can't keep my eyes from flying south for a second to assess the damage I inflicted and I'm more than a little surprised that Sam's cock is apparently back in the game already – looking pretty interested.  
  
_'Well, now, atta boy, Sammy,'_ my brain crows and I'm happy that all doesn't seem lost for today.  
  
I also notice that Sam's about to wash his hair by the way the bottle hangs, half-forgotten, in his grip and I'm selfishly glad that I made it here before he got around to that. I would rather have my tongue cut out before admitting this, but I always loved washing Sam's hair when he was little or unable to do it because of an injury, or the few times he’s let me do it for him in the showers at the bunker just because. The way he's almost always pushed into my touch, searching for more attention, I know that he loves it too, but would never ask for it. My hands twitch with need to touch him, to apologize in that way too.  
  
"Can I?" I venture, looking at Sam with a silent plea and reach for the shampoo.  
  
**SAM**  
  
Any anger over the pain I felt out on the beach melts away. Dean's here and he's trying. Used to be I was always the one chasing after him to make sure he was okay, trying to make him talk it out. And here he is, sand stuck to half his body, being so fucking respectful of however I'm feeling. Offering to leave me alone if that's what I want. It's definitely not what I want.  
  
I nod and Dean quickly gets out of his shorts and kicks them to the side before I hand over the bottle of shampoo. He lays a warm, rough hand on my chest and pushes me back a little to step into the shower with me, sand drizzling off him like sugar, swept away by the water down the drain.

I've never told him, but I love it when he washes my hair. When I was a kid, dad didn't want to be bothered; always wanted me to get a military cut like Dean just because it was easier to manage. Never missed a chance to remind me that it would save a lot of money on shampoo either. Dean was the one who'd tell him it was no big deal; he'd take care of it, just so I could keep my hair the way I wanted. When it kept getting tangled he'd buy conditioner without dad knowing. Dad would never understand why a guy would need conditioner. Dean just did it. Whatever I needed. Always.

 _'Fuck, I love him so much.'_  
  
"Turn around, Sammy," and his voice has that low rumble to it. I heard it out on the beach and it's back. I face the spray and stretch my neck back. I hear the top on the bottle click open and next thing I feel are Dean's hands on my head.  
  
_'Feels so fucking good.'  
_  
His fingers massage my scalp and I can't help but lean into the touch. It's hard to believe that my brother, who’s so skilled at fighting, so effortlessly violent when necessary, can touch me so reverently. It’s a side of him no one else ever gets to see. He works the shampoo over my head, rubbing around my ears where I was really pouring sweat earlier, scrubbing low on the back of my skull and then even rubbing my neck a bit. I feel the tension start to dissipate.  
  
"Rinse," he orders. "Damn, you got a lotta fucking knots in this rat’s nest." He sounds like he's smiling behind me.  
  
I turn around to tilt my head back under the spray, and I was right, he's watching me with a warm smile. Watching the water run down my body. Just the way he's looking at me, I can feel myself getting harder. He's so fucking gorgeous too. Hair spiky now from the spray in the shower, face pink from the sun, reddish tinge to his chest that's actually starting to get a tan underneath the slight burn on the surface. His nipples are hard since I still have the water a bit cooler than usual. My eyes keep traveling down, and, okay...  
  
_'I guess my hissy fit didn't totally kill the mood.’_  
  
His cock is about halfway to full attention. Thick and heavy and I just want to feel that stretch inside of me.  
  
"Pass me that stuff you use as conditioner," he says, voice deep and gruff.  
  
I smooth my hair back, wipe the water from my eyes, and grab the small pot, holding it out to him, but when he goes to take it, I grab his wrist instead. A small smile plays around his mouth.  
  
"I really _am_ sorry," I say as I pull him against me and feel the coarser hair at the base of his cock come into contact with –  
  
_'Whoa, that's sensitive.'_  
  
He looks up at me, alarmed when I can't help but flinch back a little. 

"Does it still hurt?" he asks, holding his body away from mine until he can truly assess the damage.  
  
**DEAN**  
  
Christ, I hate this. Sam never flinches until something's about to fall off. He can take pain, the bad kind and the good kind and doesn't bat an eye. This must really sting.  
  
I bend down and look, really look, at the soft skin on his almost hard cock. I can see small angry red lines where the sand abraded him running up the whole impressive length of his shaft and I feel my own dick throb in sympathetic pain.  
  
"Jesus, Sam, I'm sorry." My fingers hover uselessly just above the head of him. "What do you want me to do?" I sound pathetic to my own ears but I can't avoid my visceral response to my brother’s pain. It makes me fucking nuts, especially when it's my fault. I'm supposed to take care of him, protect him. I don't care how old he is. It's my responsibility to use my fucking brain and keep him safe. It'll be like that till I'm good and dead. Probably even after that.  
  
Sam puts a finger under my chin and raises my head. He keeps up the pressure until I have no choice but to straighten back up and then the pulls me closer with that smile that makes his eyes slant and crinkle the way I love.

"For starters stop saying you're sorry. I hear you. I'm sorry too. That's it. Done. Okay?"  
  
I just nod and bite my lip to keep from apologizing again but I can't let go of my self-loathing over the fact I broke my brother's dick because of my selfish need to fuck him on the beach.

"Next, stop worrying..."  
  
My responding snort and scowl are a reflex. Sam chuckles and continues.  
  
"Ok, next, _try_ to stop worrying. I've had worse and you know it."  
  
I blow out a frustrated breath. "Yeah, maybe, but not _there_ , Sammy." His huge paw lands on the side of my face and his thumb rubs gently over my cheekbone. I close my eyes, trying to get a reprieve from the forgiveness in his eyes that I don't deserve. Not yet.

"I know, Dean." All the unspoken cues in his voice make my chest feel tight. I can hear that he's past this. Wants to pick up where we left off. I don't know if we should, at least for tonight. We should really take it easy. Let him recoup. _'Yeah, definitely.'_  
  
And then he changes my mind.  
  
His lips close over mine and his hand slides to the back of my neck, cradling it firmly like only he can. He kisses me, unhurried, but deep, claiming my mouth, sweeping his tongue in and around, petting mine, sucking on it. There's nothing but affection and reassurance in his kiss at first. Relief swoops through me like fresh air into Baby's stuffy interior on a hot day. I grab onto his waist to keep steady on my feet because my knees are suddenly a little wobbly.

_'Stupid knees.'_

Sam deepens the kiss, demands more with mouth and lips and teeth and I open for him, wanna give him whatever he needs. The fire I tried to douse for Sam's benefit roars back to life inside of me, heat pooling in my belly, bubbling like lava. I feel myself getting hard in a rush, cock tight and hot. I dig my fingers harder into his sides, still trying to keep our hips slightly apart, but my skin buzzes with the intensity of his attention and I want more, always more.  
  
He pulls back long before I’ve had enough and smiles at me, his amazing multicolored eyes boring into mine, heating me up like lasers.  
  
"That's more like it." His voices slides, soothing, over my skin like the stupid aloe gel he insists on slathering over my sunburn. I shiver at the cool sensation and try to kiss him again but Sam has other ideas.  
  
He peels one of my hands off his side and turns it palm up before he produces the pot of coconut oil he uses as conditioner for his hair and unscrews the lid.  
  
_'Shit. Really, Sam? The hair? Now?'_

  
I can't help the little groan of disappointment that slips past my lips when he scoops a small amount of the thick, creamy substance into my palm and smears it around. It smells rich and buttery and is probably full of all the hippie-dippie organic shit Sam prefers when working the tangles out of his shaggy mop.  
  
"Now, there's another thing you can do for me, Dean." Sam's voice is low and about as rich and buttery as the goo in my hand.  
  
My eyes flick up to his in question and then back down to our hands again when Sam starts to move them – not north, but south.

He guides my hand to his cock, bobbing stiffly between us, and wraps his large hand over mine to curl around his erection.  
  
We both groan in unison then and my eyes fly back to Sam's face. I catch the tightening around his eyes and mouth just before he can suppress it and I want to let go of him again, unwilling to hurt him further. Of course, Sam saw that coming a mile away – little fucker – and tightens his fingers around my loosely grasping fist.  
  
**SAM**  
  
I don't know how this'll feel, but I know I want Dean's hands on me. My dick is begging for some attention and even though I’m pretty sure I can’t deal with any serious friction right now, I don’t think I’m gonna need it. He's being so careful with me – too fucking careful – it's easy to see how truly concerned he is.  
  
Now or never.  
  
He's reaching up towards my head with the coconut oil, so I take his wrist and move it down instead. He's still hesitating.  
  
_'Fuck, I just want him to touch me.'_  
  
Dean's surprised when I guide his hand to my cock and put my hand over his, forcing him to wrap his fistaround me. It feels a bit like being touched over a sunburn and I try like hell to keep my face neutral, but at the barest contact, without any movement yet, it feels like he's already jerking me off and I flinch. Of course, Dean fucking notices and moves to let go.  
  
I have to make him understand.  
  
I take a deep breath and tighten my hand down over his and the pressure with no movement feels… _really_ good. Oil oozes out between his fingers and I feel the warmth of it, warmed by his palm, covering me. _Jesus Christ._

"You sure this is okay, Sammy?" Dean can't seem to take his eyes off my cock, both of our fists wrapped around it, wide head sticking up past the double circle of fingers. I catch sight of how hard he is now too. Flushed and shining with water, cock reaching towards his navel.  
  
"I’m sure...just, slow, okay?"  
  
Dean nods and I take my hand away. He loosens his grip and I think I'm going to have to keep my hand on top of his, going to have to insist, but then he gently runs a finger down the underside of my cock and, _holy shit,_ I feel every millimeter of stroking drag from just one finger. I must have made a sound that satisfied him, I truly don't know what kind of sound I made, because he gently circles the head of my cock and rubs that spot; that bundle of nerves, right under the head, and it feels so fucking good that I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from sounding too damn needy too soon.  
  
I watch him. He's concentrating on my cock like it's some kind of exacting spell he has to get perfectly right, trying out different touches and strokes to see what works and what doesn't when he runs his fingers over a particularly sensitive spot. He's mapping me out...for what purpose later I have no idea, but he has that look on his face like he does when he's learning something important. Processing all the information and deciding how best to use it and –   
  
_'Oh fuck, yes, that's exactly how he should use it.'  
_  
He's not gripping me, more like sliding his hand all the way up the side that got less of the sand abrasion, just brushing his fingertips over the super-sensitive area on the opposite side as he does it. It feels amazing. I usually need a lot of pressure; always telling him to grip me harder than he thinks he should but this... _fuck_...he's barely touching me and I feel like I could come embarrassingly fast.

"Yeah?" he questions, finally glancing up at my face and searching for an answer. He really doesn't have to ask, he can tell by how hard I am, how long, that he's winding me up incredibly quickly. His lips are barely parted as he waits for my answer. I have to touch them. I run my finger along his bottom lip and his tongue darts out and pulls it in. _Holy fuck_. 

He keeps up the gentle stroking with his hand, the feathery brush of fingertips along the scratches on my cock, soothing oil mellowing the burn, simultaneously sucking on my finger, hard. I feel like all the air just rushed out of my lungs, pure want surging up inside of me, making my stomach flip. Watching him close his eyes and work his tongue around my finger, he’s so good at this – he can say more with his body in three seconds than I can say in an hour of talking. And he’s fucking amazing with that tongue.  
  
"Fuck yeah," I finally manage to respond, "Feel like I'm about to explode....don't want it to end...don't stop," and I can't help but give him a bunch of mixed signals. I want more and I don't want it to be over. I feel him slow his stroking hand, just enough to let me get back under control a bit. But he doesn't let up on my finger. I can't tear my eyes away. Sucking my finger like it was my cock, right there in front of my face. Hot, wet mouth and strong tongue, running up and down, pressing into the pad, thrusting against the web at the base. He opens his eyes and smiles – just dripping with sex. I instinctively know where’s he’s headed next and I just nod. I trust him.  
  
He sinks down in front of me, my finger still in his mouth, eyes locked on mine the whole time, only letting my finger go when his knees hit the floor.

** DEAN **

Sam's eyes follow me down, hungry and sharp, pupils huge. To anyone else he would look dangerous the way he looms over me, hands wide on the tile above my head, blocking out the light from the window behind him with his sasquatch shoulder span but I know how to read him and I fucking love it. I see the small tremor in his hand after I scrape my teeth along his finger and let it go. I notice the slight hunch of his torso, outlining his stomach muscles starkly, like he's coping with a gut punch. I hear his attempts to slow his ragged breathing. I feel the hard bunching in his thigh muscles when I brace my hands there like he's trying hard to hold still. I watch his cock twitch and drool where it curves up proudly towards his belly. He's wound up so tight and ready to go but fighting to make it last.

I'm kinda amazed that I got Sam this crazy from touching him so freaking carefully and I wonder if the scratches from the sand actually make it more intense? Like being jerked off after you came already, maybe? I just wanna make him feel good and I hope this is the way to go.

 _'Careful now,'_ I remind myself as I steady my position and wrap one hand slowly around the thickest part of him. I snake my head forward and stick my tongue out to rest the head of his cock on the very tip of it. I freeze like that and look up to search his face for any objection. ' _Is this ok, Sammy?'_

His gaze falls to my mouth and he licks his lips before his eyes lock on mine again and he nods, small and quick. 

I can’t ever get enough of the view from down here. Sam looks fucking amazing and I make sure he’s still watching me as I let my eyes travel slowly and without embarrassment over the miles of smooth skin and strong muscle I have in my sights. I know he loves it and I see him preen a little. He's pressing his hands harder into the wall, making his biceps jump. He's hunching in further to harden and flex his stomach muscles more. I raise one eyebrow in mild admonishment. _Show off._ Sam just grins, bright and fierce, and I really I don't mind it, fucking enjoying the show and the way it makes a prickle skitter to my balls and tighten the skin around them. 

Christ, I just want his cock in my mouth. Taste him, feel his size challenge me. Still, I can't rush this. Wanna make sure Sam enjoys it as much as I do.

Having memorized the places he’s most sensitive because of the sand burn, I start by licking up a broad stroke on the opposite side with firm pressure. Sam's hips jolt forward like a racehorse out of its gate and I check quickly that it's pleasure, not pain, driving the motion. Sam's mouth hangs slightly open and his eyes are flutter closed in clear enjoyment, so I keep going and lick him again and again with long, slow strokes, watching his face like a hawk for any sign of pain. 

The coconut oil makes for a smooth glide and although it coats my tongue momentarily it doesn't taste like crap like lube often does.

 _'Sam may be onto something there with his girly grooming habits.'_ The thought flits briefly through my brain. 

I keep my tongue nice and flat, teasing hot and wet all over the less-abused areas, and I can feel every ridge and vein under the thin skin covering his hard core. He's growing even longer and harder on my tongue and it makes me fucking drool with want. His small huffed moans egg me on and I cup and squeeze his balls to coax a deeper groan from him that travels down my back like an electric current and bursts into sparks in my gut.

Still holding onto him a little gingerly, I cover the top of Sam's cock head with wet kisses. I love how soft and spongy it feels against my lips, so different from every other part of his body. I let my mouth glide down his hard length on the hurt side, my lips barely making contact, and am surprised when Sam actually presses into my touch harder. He hisses viscously above me, and I freeze in position, but he doesn't let up.

" 'S ok, Dean, keep going." His voice sounds strained, but I trust him to know what he wants, what he can take. 

My own cock throbs between my legs at the need in Sam's tone and I know we gotta get this show on the road if we want to make it to the finish line the way I planned.

Picking up speed, I start to let my soft, open lips travel all up and down Sam's flushed cock, licking out every so often and sucking at his balls when I reach them. Every taste and texture I come across, and every sound that’s punched out of my brother because of what I’m doing to him drives my own intense need higher. One of his large hands lands on my shoulder and grabs on tight like he's trying to ground himself.

‘ _I’m right here.’_

I circle my thumb and forefinger tightly just below his head and blow warmly across his crown, earning me a hard shiver and gasp from above, before I lick deliberately across the slit a few times, pushing in a little deeper on each pass, knowing it makes him fucking crazy. I'm not surprised when Sam's hand threads into my hair and clenches there before he tries to push forward between my lips. 

I want nothing more than to open wide and let Sam fuck my mouth, but I let go of his cock and grab his hips instead, stilling them with some effort, shaking my head at him.

"No, let me, Sammy."

His eyes look like they're about to shoot flames and his cheeks are flushed and dark. I'm worried he'll draw blood as hard as he's biting his lower lip. I can feel Sam's body quiver under my hands with restrained power and the tension of holding back. "Fuck, Dean, please," he pants. "Need you."  
  
I'm still a little worried it's too much for him, but I'm so fucking turned on by the way he begs me, tries to hold back for me, the way he looks at me like I have all the fucking answers.

I can't resist him, never could. That might be my ultimate flaw. It's what got us into this in the first place. For the longest time, I thought he still had a chance to get out, have a civilian life, have a family. Not with some random chick in Texas, but someone new. I was so damned focused on that idea that I completely missed all the clues – all the ways Sam was trying to tell me that he didn't want any of that for himself anymore, that he had made his decision and made his home with me. When he finally gave up trying to convince me with words and simply moved in and kissed me, pleading for me to stop being such a stubborn jerk and _listen_ to him, trying to tell me in a way I could understand, I broke, just fucking broke because all I wanted, all along, was Sam and no one else. It felt so goddamned right, so I did the same for him – gave in to his pleading and gave him what he wanted. Fucked him right there in that shitty motel in fucking Nowhere, North Dakota. We never looked back. Of course, nothing’s ever easy with us, but despite all the intense, crazy stuff we had to live through after that, despite the awful fights and terrible mistakes, we always come back together somehow. And I've never been happier.

Sam. Chose. Me.

Still damn-well blows my mind every time I really stop to think about it. Most days I'm just so fucking grateful to have him by my side and to share this with him that I choose not to overanalyze it.

I love him so fucking much.

I’ll work as hard as I can, every fucking day to give him what he needs to be happy.

Right now that means kissing the tip of his enormous cock, sucking the little gush of bitter precome from his slit, before I soften my mouth as much as possible and fully envelop him, sliding down as far as I can, cradling him on my tongue.

 **SAM**  
  
_Jesus Christ._ Dean's hand felt good, but his mouth feels so much better. The _heat_ on my sensitive cock. _Fuck._ And the way he’s using his tongue, feels like it’s everywhere at once – under the crown, swiping down my whole length and back up and now, _oh my God_ , he's pressing it into my slit, like, fucking _inside_ of me. His tongue feels huge trying to push into the tiny opening and it's just a preview of his cock trying to force its way in when I'm so tight and strung out I can barely stand it. I can't help but grab onto his hair. It's so hard not to let loose and fuck his mouth, but if he wants to make up for our disappointing attempt out on the beach, I’m not going to get in his way. _Oh fuck_ ; it feels like he's working his tongue inside my cock. It can’t really be that deep but I feel it all the way down into my groin. It feels so good. Feels so good I can't –  
  
I grip Dean's hair, trying to wordlessly apologize for the fluid that surges out as he's trying to press in because I’m so far gone; sorry that I might not be able to make this last because he just fucking _undoes_ me, but he rubs it around with his tongue and then _sucks_ on me. So he gets another surge. I can’t hold it back. He only looks up, briefly closing his eyes to tell me it's okay – that he's as turned on as I am and it's winding him up to feel me losing control to his wicked tongue.  
  
I keep my back to the shower spray, but some of the fine mist still gets past me and it's glittering on his wet hair, his eyelashes, his lips shine with the water around my cock. Thin streams run down the valleys between his shoulders muscles and his biceps where the mist coalesces. He’s beautiful. Like the lace panties on his masculine body, it’s so incongruous to see his eyelashes sparkle and his lips glossed with water, almost like translucent makeup on his gorgeous face. The dissonant androgyny of it is pushing buttons deep inside me I never knew I had until the first time I saw Dean’s ass wrapped in lace. To the world, he’s the perfect image of masculinity, and Lord knows he works hard at it; wants to make sure that’s all that people see. With me, right now, like this, he’s something else – something so much deeper than the badass stereotype, and I feel lucky as hell that I get to see him this way.

He's so aware of how sensitive I am, not giving me much friction, but holding me, almost gently in his mouth and working me over with his tongue. I'm so fucking hard from it. When my eyes slide down his body, I can see that he is too. His cock is so thick and I’m dying for it to stretch me open.  
  
_‘Is he reading my mind?’_ While his tongue breaches my slit, I feel his fingers gently stroke between my balls and my ass, then a bit more insistent...he knows I didn't get sand burned here and he's using that knowledge to -

** DEAN **

I feel Sam shudder above me. His hand clenches harder in my hair and it sends a spike of pleasure straight to my cock that has me gasping. 

His reactions show me exactly how sensitive he still is from the fucking sand, but it's also like he's been set on hyperdrive. So fucking hard from so little. Everywhere I touch him he seems even more responsive than normal.

On any other day, I'd take my time, tease him so softly, keep him on edge, never give him enough to really get off on it, make him sweat and twitch and go crazy, his patience would run out and he’d take over. I love unleashing the possessive alpha in him. Love it when he takes what he wants. Totally hot. But today, the lightest touches made him so huge and thick and rock hard that I can barely get my mouth around him. I can’t remember the last time he was this turned on and still letting me call the shots.

_‘So fucking good for me.’_

My tongue traces the thick vein along the underside, swirls around the soft head, presses deeper into the slit. I keep it nice and wet and sloppy but Sam's moans and curses floating in the humid air of the shower sound like I'm jerking him hard and fast like he normally needs it.

Every sound out of his mouth sends jolts of heat through me. My cock is so hard and heavy it hurts, straining upwards, screaming for attention. 

_'Not yet. Gotta wait.'_ I try to sooth my own burning need by drawing in some deep breaths around Sam when I can.

I run my hands up Sam's long, lean legs. His thigh muscles twitch and tremble under my raking nails. I let my palms cup and squeeze that tight, round ass of his, massaging, spreading him, fingertips trailing into the cleft. He jerks forward, I gag a little, unable to contain him, he pulls back with a grunted “sorry”, I hold onto his ass tighter. 

Glancing up to see that he's ok, I’m struck again by how fucking awesome he looks – tan and strong and healthy and currently totally strung out. His eyes are closed and his face has an awed expression like he just learned some vital secret of the universe. 

_'Time to kick it up a notch'_

I glance around and see the pot of coconut oil still within reach, quickly dunk two fingers in, and go to work.

Sam lets out a deep sigh when I cradle his heavy, soft sack, play with his balls, venture behind, push and probe a little, all the while keeping my mouth tight around the flared head of his cock, tongue pushing insistently against the knot of nerves there. And then –

** SAM **

_Oh fuck._

His fingers are inside of me – at least two. And it feels so fucking good I can hardly stand it. My eyes fly open at the welcome intrusion and fasten on my brother’s blissed-out face. He's got his eyes closed now and he looks so fucking gorgeous, just going by feel, tongue pressed against that bundle of nerves when it's not trying to push it inside me, pushing that tiny opening in my cock to the limit while his fingers work me open. He's coming at me from both directions and I’m completely surrounded by him, every nerve firing shots of pleasure from my calves to my skull, from my fingertips to my shoulders, stomach quivering, caught in the middle, unsure of which way to move to get _more._ I feel him tap on my ankle with his free hand so I shift one leg to the side and feel his fingers sink all the way in. _Jesus Christ –_ it’s what I’ve wanted since we were out on the sand, Dean working to fill me up, hitting all those places inside of me – including a few I didn’t know I had with that tongue of his – and I know his cock is going to feel about twice this big. That thought alone – o _h shit_ –

** DEAN **

I don't give him time to adjust, just plunge two fingers in right away. I know he fucking loves the first stretch and burn as much as I do. Like the burn from that first shot of whiskey. He can take it. Damn, he's tight and so fucking hot inside. I close my eyes to concentrate on the feel of him, the way his tight rim tries to resist me while his inner muscles work to pull me deeper, the way my fingertips glide across the place where he’s so incredibly smooth, the way his full balls draw up in my other hand. I push relentlessly until I bottom out and Sam moans long and broken as if he's already stuffed full with my cock. That thought sends another pulse of agonizing want from my brain to my balls and has me groaning loudly. A hot gush of precome erupts and dribbles down the length of my erection like a teasing touch. 

I can't wait much longer, and know Sam must be desperate by now, so I don't waste any more time. My fingers work in and out of him slowly at first, always stretching and coaxing him to relax. Soon I add a third finger and speed up, causing huffs and curses and awesome filthy encouragement to spill from Sam's lips. As if going by muscle memory, my hand twists a little, my fingers crook and pet and push and....ah, yeah, _there_. Sam's whole body convulses in a shudder and he cries out as I rub over his prostate again and again while I pump in and out of him.

** SAM **

_Oh my fucking God –_ he’s stroking inside me, it’s perfect – I can’t wait anymore.

"Dean, ungh – not gonna last much longer," I have to warn him. It's not fair, he hasn't taken anything for himself yet.  
  
He pulls his mouth off my cock with a soft kiss of suction at the very tip and smiles up at me. I can tell he's trying to read my face to see if I'm ready. I don't want him to waste time guessing.  
  
"Please, Dean, please – however you want it – just do it."

** DEAN **

It never gets old, hearing Sam give me permission. As big and strong and damn fucking smart as he is, when he asks me to take care of him, make him feel good, trusts me to give him what he needs – it's the absolute best high in the world and makes me feel like I actually matter. 

I carefully slip my fingers from him and groan at the feeling of his body trying to hold onto me.

"Yeah, ok, Sammy."

I kiss his thigh and low, hard abdomen, bite at his hipbone playfully, and gather my feet under me to slowly get up. His hands pull at my upper arms and I have to admit to myself that I appreciate the upward momentum it gives me, cause....fuuuuck, hard tiled floors ain't fun to kneel on. I suppress the pained grunt that my aching knees try to push out of me and run my hands up his torso and around his neck. My mouth finds his and he practically ambushes me, pushing in deep with a guttural groan, making my insides quiver like they're made of Jell-O. For a second, I’m tempted to just give in and let him take whatever he wants. It feels too fucking incredible to be pinned to the shower wall by his enormous weight and strength, having my mouth devoured like it's filled with more of that awesome rum. But then I notice the hard-pebbled gooseflesh spread across his shoulders, back, and arms where my hands glide over him and I see that the steam from the shower has all but dissipated. My brain finally kicks back into action when my hand makes direct contact with the quickly-cooling stream of water from the showerhead behind him.

"Shit, Sam, I'm sorry. Didn’t know hot water’s almost gone."

Sam presses me harder against the wall, moving further away from the water stream at his back.

"Don't care, just, please....Dean – " His scorching breath against my mouth and neck send a hot quiver across my skin, the stiff line of our cocks pressing hard against each other where they’re trapped between our stomachs. 

My hips jump forward on pure instinct, but my brain has other ideas. 

_'Can't let him freeze. This's not fair.'_

I glance towards the sink and my eye catches the large picture window on the wall across from the shower stall. Clear glass, blinds drawn up to reveal a breathtaking view of the dunes, the beach, and the ocean that I hadn't really noticed before. My original idea comes roaring back and I can’t stop a wide grin from spreading across my face.

I push hard against Sam, because...it feels awesome and I gotta reestablish who's in charge here. I manage to get him to step back so I can reach over and shut off the water. He looks confused and maybe a little hurt, but I grab his wrist and pull him out of the shower with me.

"I promised you, I'd fuck you with a view of the sea, Sammy. I don’t break my promises."

 **SAM**  
  
The dwindling hot water barely registered in light of what Dean was doing to me, so when he steps back, all I want to do is grab his wrists, force them above his head, _make_ him stay against the wall. I've almost forgotten how we got here in the first place, but right now I don't care where or how it ends. I just need it to happen and thank God Dean isn't wasting any time. He clearly has a plan, and I'm glad for it because I can barely form a coherent thought right now that doesn't involve Dean's cock inside of me.  
  
"Over here," Dean says as he pulls me against him, still taking care not to be too rough with my dick and I can't believe I'm this hard and this sensitive. His arms wrap around me and I suddenly realize how cool my skin feels against his. He's kissing me hard, fist in my hair, and I love the sharp sting of him pulling at the strands, tugging my head into the perfect angle for his soft lips and plunging tongue. My arms instinctively tighten around him, cock surging against his. He holds my head still and fucks my mouth with his tongue, warming me up to scorching. I think I might come on his stomach right here if we don't hurry.  
  
" _Please,_ " I don't care how desperate I sound. I _am_ fucking desperate. 

I feel like I've been ready for the past hour. 

** DEAN **

"I got you," I murmur against his mouth and push him back another couple of steps.

I spin him around then so we're both facing the window and I grab his hand, planting it flat on the wide windowsill, which has a built-in towel shelf beneath that looks like it's made from ship planks and heavy duty enough to withstand our combined weights. I quickly open the window and a warm, salty breeze sweeps in and takes some of the AC chill out of the air, bringing with it the soundtrack of the ocean.

 _'Close enough'_ , I think, wind caressing my skin and gulls crying in the air outside. 

I step to Sam's side and plant his other hand on the board as well. As much as my cock and my caveman brain scream for me to hurry the fuck up and _take_ Sam the way he’s begging me to, I really wanna enjoy this, burn it all into my brain for later, take in every moment as much as I can. I will down my raging hard on as much as possible and try to breathe in an effort to slow my galloping heart.

I move slowly around Sam, kissing his shoulder, tugging on his skin with my teeth, I drag my nose along his neck, suck on his earlobe, rake my nails down his spine, tracing each bump, bend down and bite into the meaty muscle of his ass.

"You....stand...right....there....and...enjoy....the....view," I instruct between kisses and bites, enjoying the hell out of each moan and shudder Sam gives me in response. 

I finally move to stand behind him and have to stop for a moment to gather myself. I’m fucking _trembling,_ on the edge of losing control. My cock is so full and heavy I can feel my heartbeat there. Deep in my gut a firestorm howls, pushing waves of heat through my limbs. I try to concentrate instead on the incredible sight in front of me. Sam's wide shoulders leaning forward, supported by strong arms; twin ropes of muscles flexing on either side of his spine, guiding my eyes from his neck to his slim waist, long legs spread, pushing his tight ass out, offering himself to me.

_'Fuck, he's so stupidly hot'_

I can't wait another second.

Stepping in close, one hand on his ass, spreading him, the other guiding my cock, I nudge against his entrance for only a second before I shove in with one long, steady thrust.

 **SAM**  
  
Enjoy the view? Right now I couldn't care less if Dean was about to fuck me in a truck stop bathroom. 

But I'm right where he wants me, and he must want me here for a reason so I open my eyes which have been screwed shut, fighting to hold on and to just hold back for a goddamn second until Dean can give me what I need.  
  
Okay, he's not wrong. It's nice. Better than nice. So beautiful, so private, the warm breeze erasing the too-cool water from the shower and it's drying my hair and my shoulders. The sky's turning colors with the sunset and I realize that enjoying the view is actually helping me hang on; a slight distraction, until – he's close behind me now, pressing his wide, velvety head against my entrance and I give a small push back against him –  
  
_'Oh fuck yes!'_ Finally, finally he's pushing inside. It's a struggle not to come with first thrust. He feels so huge. Worked me open just enough to still give me that intense stretch I fucking need as he makes himself fit inside of me.

He pushes in without stopping, trusting I can take it, and now I feel his balls against my ass, buried to the hilt and he's holding steady for a minute, letting me adjust but I really don't need to, so I flex my arms and lower myself in a vertical push-up, then press back quickly. 

_'Oh fuck, yeah, right there.'_  
  
"Jesus Christ, Sammy," he groans close behind me. Now he understands. His hands move to my hips and he pulls almost completely out before shoving quick and hard back into me. I catch myself against the shelf, give him some resistance to push into and it feels like heaven. He's unbelievably hard; so fucking _thick_. His cock feels like it’s carving a space for itself inside of me, burning in the best way.

 **DEAN**  
  
' _FUCK_ '  
  
He's so fucking tight and hot, like Baby's engine after a hundred miles at top speed.  
  
Always so eager for me, like he can't wait, can't get enough. Every single time. No matter how bad I fucked up before. The things that does to me, stuff I can't ever tell him...feels like my heart's too big to breathe around. I wanna give him everything.  
  
I feel him clenching around me, actively squeezing me tighter, crushing my cock, pulling me deeper and I get dizzy with the rush of sensations racing through me – like a live current burning through my nerves, prickling, white-noise-buzzing in my brain.  
  
I ram myself inside him again, put my weight into it, know he loves it. I hear his huffed moans with every thrust, fucking beautiful.  
  
Can't believe I finally get to punch those sounds out of him. This's been more foreplay than a freaking soft porno. Normally not our style, but then vacation isn't normally our style either and we sure as hell are making the most of it.  
  
I can still do better for him.  
  
I place one hand low on his back, pushing down a little, and pull at his hip crease with the other. He gets it immediately and pushes his ass out higher, giving me even better access. He's throwing me a glance over his shoulder, his expression is raw hunger and so fucking hot I feel my skin tighten from head to toes.  
  
"Fucking do it, please, Dean, c'mon," he rasps, voice unusually hoarse and deep. Fuck, he really wants it, bad.  
  
I don't have to be told twice.  
  
**SAM**

He's setting up a punishing rhythm and I'm moving with him. Every time he pushes against my prostate it goes straight to my constantly-leaking cock that's thrusting into space above the counter with every impact. He’s so in tune with me; knows that I usually need his hand wrapped around my dick before I can come, and he knows I’m close. I feel him let go of my hip and start reaching around to the front, but this time –

"Please, just keep going, wanna come just like this," I force out between labored breaths. I feel his hand stall, uncertain, but then he moves it back to my hip and digs his fingers in. His thrusts speed up, and I can feel his hot breath on my back. His body collides with my ass, sharp and hard and relentless, his cock pounds inside of me – better than a fucking machine with his perfect pace.

 **DEAN**  
  
_'Jesus, the kid's killing me'_  
  
It blows my brain. Sam normally needs so much pressure and speed to fly apart that I worry sometimes I'll break something, but then, that's one of the best parts of us being together - not having to hold back, not having to be gentle, really fucking letting loose with our need for each other.

Just the thought of him coming untouched about makes me blow my load right there. My cock spasms painfully with a surge of precome inside of him, making him jerk and groan.

I hold onto him tighter, I have to anchor myself, try to keep from coming. I curl my hands around his hip bones, dig my fingers into the hard muscles on his abdomen, and start giving it to him with everything I’ve got.  
  
Every powerful thrust feels like coming home, like a reunion after a tough hunt, like being unbound after your wrists were tied too long, like flying high as the colorful kites this afternoon. Love and gratitude for Sam, for being alive, crashing through me in powerful waves as I fuck my little brother closer to the edge.

It's overwhelming and freeing at the same time and it feels like everything inside of me draws into an intense fireball - ready to explode.  
  
  


**SAM**  
  
I feel his rhythm getting irregular, he's staying deep longer, in almost constant contact with the hyper-sensitive nerves inside me and I _still_ push back harder for more. Pleasure rockets through me without mercy, the overtaxed muscles in my arms straining to absorb the assault.

I need him like this. He's a part of me and when he's buried inside of me, it’s a physical manifestation of our connection. We just _work_ ; hunting, fucking, he can read me and I can read him. I know what his hands on me mean, know how to move to help him get as deep as he wants to go, as deep as I need him. 

I shift a little and, _Jesus Christ_ , he's giving it all he has, knows we don't hold back with each other. No one can give it to me like this. He's not letting himself go yet, always wants to make sure I get taken care of. Always putting me first. He never stops reading me, focused on me, I can _feel_ it. Just like I can feel him behind me when we're in a dark room, guns drawn, and I instinctively know which way he's aiming, where he's going next, know that he can sense when I need him most and count on him to be there. We've always been connected like that. When I was at Stanford, away from him, I never felt right – like I was some kind of imposter. I thought I'd be _more_ "me" when I went out on my own. I found out I was less. All I want, all I've wanted for years, is to be a home for my brother. Like he is for me. 

The sounds he's making right now – voice a bit higher, cries a lot more needy and lot less self-conscious; he's letting it happen, letting himself enjoy this instead of trying to hold back and I love being able to give this to him. Love that I can make him feel free enough to give up control. Feeling him right up against my back like this, makes me feel safer than anything else can. Safe enough to scream if I need to. To curse or beg or even fucking cry. Ask for anything I need and get it.  
  
I know he's getting close; I know it even though I can't see his face – just by how he big he is, how hard he feels inside me – the way he’s filling me completely – and _fuck_ – the way he _sounds_. Barely like my brother at all – almost whimpering between gasps of air behind me, bruising fingertips digging deep into my hips. 

I love watching him when he comes apart, he gets this expression – like all the emotions he never shows are about to break free and he always closes his eyes tight when he starts to release, as if that will hold back the show of feeling. As much as I wish I could see him right now, I know he needs it this way sometimes and I’m always happy to give it to him. He needs to know no one's watching, not even me, so he can let go with a scream, with total silence, with his eyes open - whatever he needs the most.  
  
"Love the way you take it," his voice is like molten steel, pouring over me, igniting every nerve ending. "So fucking tight. So good, Sammy.” His voice breaks around my name.

** DEAN **

I'm fighting to hold back my own release now, need him to come first, make sure he gets what he needs. He's so damn close. I can feel it in every twitching muscle, see it in the way he's white knuckling the shelf, hear it in every stuttering breath, not even making noises anymore. 

‘ _C'mon, little brother, let go. Give it to me._ ’

 **SAM**  
  
I can't - I can't hold on anymore.   
  
The scream comes straight from my gut, filling the small room before the wind takes it, the release surges from my balls, through my cock, exploding out over the counter in stream after stream and it feels so fucking good. Instant relaxation melts across my shoulders and down my spine. I've been so wound up for so long, and Dean's right there, working across my prostate, deep inside me, forcing each thick pulse from my untouched cock. I clamp down around him as I let go, but he doesn't let up. He's groaning behind me, "Oh, fuck, yeah, that's it, Sammy," and he buries as deep as he can before he stills, low, rumbling "always so good for me," close to my ear and he's shoving into me in short strokes, arms wrapped around my chest tight, like he's trying to merge us into one person and it's so good, so safe, so fucking hot.

_'Come on big brother, I'm right here, I've got you, I can take it, so fucking LET me take it._

**DEAN**  
  
_'Holy shit, he's done it. He's coming untouched and so fucking hard.'_ The thought fills me with a strangely glowing pride.

I always get a kick out of the way Sam needs me to jerk him hard and fuck him at the same time to really lose his shit and come like a fucking tsumani, but having him come on my cock alone – _damn_.

Sam's orgasm feels like an earthquake. His whole body shakes apart under me and I wrap my arms tighter around him, trying to hold him together. His stomach muscles seize again and again under my hand. I can feel tremors rolling up his spine where I’m plastered against his back. His scream sounds like it’s wrenched from his soul and it's a thing of beauty.  
  
It's girly of me, I know, but it feels like a privilege to be able to give Sam exactly what he wants...needs, to have him trust me enough to completely let go and to share this with him. There's nothing better in the world.  
  
My thoughts cut off when he suddenly clenches around my cock so hard, it makes it impossible to come, pressure back building into my balls, fire roaring through my limbs, vision greying out. My body goes on autopilot – fingers clutching, hips shoving into Sam again and again, forward, only forward, barely pulling back anymore, deeper and deeper. My legs muscles burn with the effort, my lower back cramps from thrusting so hard. I don't care. I never want this to stop. Sam grunts and cries out sharply – or maybe that's me. I can't tell, can't think, don't want to. Then the pressure releases around me and it's like the fucking Hoover Dam breaking – hot flood rushing out of me with such force it feels like I'm being drained in an instant. I lose track of everything around me but the scent and feel and taste of Sam. I let myself drown in it.

** SAM **

I can feel the heat of his release spreading into me, thick and hot, oozing out of me as his thrusting works the come all the way down his shaft in an exquisite, long slide.   
  
The feel of him letting go like this, I feel it down to my soul, feel him wrapped around me, deep inside me, hanging onto me, _needing_ me in ways he'd never admit to, but he never has to. I take his weight, take everything he's giving me. My body keeps reacting, my muscles trying to grasp at his cock, hold him here where he feels so incredible, keep him here where he belongs, safe with me. My cock twitches the last drops of come onto the counter and my body grips him like my life depends on it, because it does. I don't want any of this without him.

I feel used up. Floating. There's nothing but Dean inside me, Dean wrapped around my back, Dean's arms hanging on. We're both fighting for breath and we just stay connected like that until our hearts stop ricocheting in our chests. I can't believe I just came without a hand on my cock. I haven't done that since I came in my Levis while making out with that Jenny girl in eighth grade. Maybe I don't hate sand as much as I thought I did. 

"Holy fuck, Sammy," Dean mumbles against my spine. I can't help but smile. _‘Holy fuck'_ is right.  
  
**DEAN**  
  
When my brain finally gains traction again, I'm still draped over Sam's back, my lips dragging against his sweat-slick skin as I croak against it, “Holy fuck."  
  
We're both panting harshly in the otherwise quiet room and I feel Sam's heart hammer like it's knocking against my own ribcage.

 _'Just another minute,_ ' I think to myself, unwilling to let go of Sam quite yet and unsure if I'll stay on my feet without his support.  
  
My body feels boneless, relaxed, like I'm floating on one of those ridiculous flamingo floats in the ocean.  
  
_'Ocean....right.'_  
  
I lift my head with some effort and kiss Sam's shoulder because it's right there, before my eyes focus on the scene outside.  
  
"Wow, Sammy, are you seeing this?" My voice sounds as awed as I feel. I can't believe the riot of colors streaking the sky, like that goofy painter with the crazy hair from that old show Sam loved to watch as a kid smeared everything from his palette across the horizon. It's incredible, it's breathtaking, and I hadn't noticed any of it until this moment. Typical, dumbass me. Instead of coming up with the whole elaborate idea of how great it would be to fuck Sam on the beach during sunset, I just shoulda remembered that all I ever need is...Sam.

 **SAM**  
  
"Yeah, Dean, yeah I see it." My burning arms hold us both up and Dean's voice trails off, not even attempting to describe the spectrum of light shifting in front of our eyes before the oncoming night. I hate to see the day, this amazing day with my brother, come to an end. I tell myself to live in the moment because right now we're all bound up together and it's perfect. I want to be sure to etch this into my memory.

*****

 **SAM**  
  
We had to take another shower. We decided doing it together would be fastest since there hadn't been much time for the water heater to catch up. We made a game of it; seeing how fast we could wash each other off. Dean looked as relaxed as I felt. He laughed, trying to beat me to the towels on the counter when we were done. I won.

Now I'm out on the deck again. My soft sweatpants are pretty forgiving on my still-sensitive cock. My favorite t-shirt; soft to the point where it's just perfect which means it's going to get a fucking hole in it sometime soon, but it's perfect right now.  
  
Dean walks out with the last of the rum and two glasses. Cotton PJ pants and a white v-neck. He looks years younger than he did when we got here. I don't think I've seen him smile this much in, well, in I can't remember when. I love seeing him looking like he did before the last decade of crap we've gone through took its toll and left its legacy in the lines around his eyes and a few strands of gray at his temples.

He hands me a glass of rum and holds up his own. "To the best vacation ever," he declares, clanking his glass against mine before taking a big swallow. Even though he just fucked me into next week, I still watch his throat move around the alcohol, lower lip shining from the liquid, and it makes my stomach flutter.   
  
"I second that," I agree, downing half of mine and enjoying the way it burns in my throat.

"I love it here," I confess, looking out into the rich black night just past the railing of our sanctuary. I know this is only temporary. That's what vacations are. Not that I'd really know – this is the first good one we've had. I don't want it to be the last.  
  
Dean drops down onto the chaise lounge next to me, watching me closely and I'm not hiding my emotions very well.

** DEAN **

_‘Dammit, Sammy, what’s with the melancholy all of a sudden?’_

I study his familiar face, at least the side of it I can see in the soft illumination from the living room, and I’m amazed at how much younger he looks. It’s like the vacation has wiped away all of his worry lines and erased the shadows he’s been sporting under his eyes for way too long. His dark tan and lighter hair make him look so healthy and rested, it forcefully reminds me of the times I secretly checked in on him at Stanford and saw him hanging out with friends on campus. I always drove away from those sneak visits feeling both happy for Sam that he had a life away from all the shit that I had to deal with, and painfully hollowed-out like I was leaving behind a vital organ. I convinced myself every time that I had no right to interfere and that Sam was where he belonged; as far away from me as possible.

I don’t believe that’s the case anymore, haven’t for a long time. Instead, I know in my bones that we’re at our best when we’re a team. Not because Chuck, or fate, or some other fucked-up power in the universe decided it would be that way ions ago, but because we fucking _earned_ it. We worked hard and often paid too much for every scrap of knowledge and skill and experience that we’ve got today. We gained the most when we were together, we lost the most when we were apart. It’s that simple.

I might’ve lost sight of that here and there along the road, but it’s like this vacation has cleared out the fog and given me a clear view again. I feel like my batteries are recharged like they haven’t been in…I don’t even know how long.

Sam and me, we’re the fucking dudes who saved the world…a lot. And we’re going to do it again. I just know it.

 **SAM**  
  
"We'll come back," Dean says with finality. "Next year."  
  
I look at him with clear skepticism. We both know that "next year" is never a sure thing. He looks slightly annoyed at my expression and reaches out, determination on his face.  
  
"Sam," he grabs my hand and makes sure I'm looking at him, "this ain't a fucking Make-A-Wish trip. We're going to win. It's what we do."  
  
I want to believe him. I really want to believe him. "You can't know that." I reply, words sticking in my throat.   
  
"Yes, Sam, I can and I do."  
  
"Dean, nothing's guaranteed."  
  
"Bullshit."  
  
I look at him and feel a little piece of hope rise in my chest.

 ~~~~" _We're_ guaranteed. You and me. Whatever happens, we face it together and we figure it out."  
  
I can't help but smile. I fucking love him and the way he believes in us above all else. I may have doubts about myself, but I have always believed in my brother.

"Can we reserve this place again as soon as we get home?" I can’t _not_ believe in him.

"Fuck yeah. Absolutely. I'll call the guy as soon as we get back." He says it like planning another vacation is as easy as ordering takeout.   
  
I know the lights in the house are going to go out soon. We never turned the timer off. I get ready for the nightly show in the sky – more stars than we can see in Kansas – the inverted bowl of the entire universe over our heads. Dean settles on the chaise, lying back, and I lie down next to him and scoot over until our shoulders are touching, leaning in to rest my head against him. I feel the firm warmth of his body through our thin cotton shirts and he's so real, so alive and so solid next to me. Everything I always count on. We still have a couple of days left. I didn't make any plans for these last days. Just gonna let them happen. Me and Dean and whatever comes our way. Like it's always been.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When the Winchesters have to, they’ll vacuum up the salt lines they laid, pack up the weapons they stashed all around the house, and fold themselves into the Impala and make the drive back to the center of the country where they’ll have to figure out a way to save the world. Again. This time from God. 

Sam doesn’t know how yet, and as he watches the stars, leaning against his brother, he tells his brain to shut up when it tries to point out that they need to destroy the entity that actually created this amazing universe that stretches out endlessly above them, but he knows they will find a way. Dean has convinced him of that. Because saving the world means saving each other and saving each other is their one guarantee in life. 

**THE END**


End file.
